


Carry On Countdown 2017

by bazypitchandsimonsnow (ChessPargeter)



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Angst, Carry On Countdown (Simon Snow), Children, Crossover, Family, Fifth Year, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Pets, Pining, Pre-Canon, Social Media, Songfic, pynch - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-01-23 22:38:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 58,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12518152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChessPargeter/pseuds/bazypitchandsimonsnow
Summary: My works for the Carry On Countdown 2017.





	1. At Watford

**Author's Note:**

> Alright I'm gonna try this. These probably won't be too long, but they'll be something. I will try to do all of them but I'm also a very busy university student with exams and finals (hahahaha kill me plz). Chapter titles are prompts given. Hope you all enjoy these!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's fifth year and Simon is sure Baz is plotting. Even at his football practice.

**Simon**

He’s plotting and I fucking know it. Penny and Agatha think I’m crazy but they’re wrong. He’s doing something. And I will watch his stupid evil arse until I figure it out.

I should be studying or something. My grades are truly abysmal this term. But I’m going to stay right here in the stands, leg jittering and sword hand ready, until the end of football practice. I’ve been following him everywhere. Out of class, the catacombs, and here. He will not shake me.

The team is huddled around Coach Mac, probably discussing game strategy. I focus on Baz. His back is to me (probably on purpose) (the tosser). I stare intently at him. After half an hour of practice, he's covered in grass stains. They're especially prominent on his clear pale skin. His jersey is green and purple, the Watford colours. The number 61 is emblazoned across the back with “Pitch” above it. His black hair is tied up in a stupid man bun. Makes sense. He’s always pushing it out of his face while looming over his books. If it gets in the way all the time, why doesn’t he just bloody well cut it? Wait no that’d be bad. It looks good when it’s falling in his face. No matter the impracticality.

They break from huddle. Baz turns around and his eyes catch mine. He glares, his deep-water grey gaze boring into me. I don’t know how he does it. One sharp look and my whole body is on fire. I hate it, that he can get under my skin like this so easily. I stick my tongue out at him. Childish, I know, but I think it’s effective. His brows shoot up, his eyes widen, and I swear his cheeks go a bit... pink. That’s weird. He embarrassed for me or something? Red with rage maybe? Before I can figure it out though, he turns and runs off to his position.

With one whistle blow, the team goes into action. Baz plays forward because of course he does. He needs to be the star of the show. And what makes it worse is that he’s really fucking good. It’d be so much better if he sucked. But no, he handles the football like a pro. Bouncing it between his feet like lightning, bending and weaving it easily around opposing players, and kicking with immeasurable force. (Of course he can kick it hard, he has a vampire strength).

Surprisingly Baz isn’t a ball hog. He works with everyone else, passing when needed. And it almost always reaches the other person. I don’t know how he does it, execute a perfect plan in seconds. I usually just fumble and bash until I get it right. Maybe the vampire senses help. Or maybe it’s just him, thinking ten steps ahead with that big brain of his. His stupid big brain. I wish he wasn’t so smart. Then it’d be easier to figure out what he’s plotting.

Someone passes the ball to him again, and Baz is off like a shot. He barrels down the field towards the goal like a fucking missile. No one can stop him. His face is all screwed up in concentration, lips in a determined scowl and eyebrows pushed down. The fire is his eyes burns so bright it’s almost blinding. With one furious kick, the football flies into the goal, too fast for the goalkeeper.

The other teammates cheer. And they should, it was good play. Part of me sorta wants to clap too. Wait, no, I can’t do that. Baz is my nemesis. I hate him! He’s _evil!_  Just because he’s amazing at football doesn’t change that.

As he’s receiving his high fives, he turns to me. His expression is complicated. Lips all pinched, brow furrowed, but his eyes are sort of... soft. No anger or disgust like when he usually looks at me. But round and open with not a hint of typical negativity. I inhale sharply. My heart beats rapidly. Why the hell is he looking at me like that?! What’s he trying to do? Pretend to be nice so I’ll let my guard down? How stupid does he think I am? (Probably very.) Like hell if I’ll fall for that.

I take a page from the Baz Pitch playbook and sneer. The softness vanishes almost immediately, replaced with typical smug disgust. He turns away from me with a snort. Knew it was fake. Baz doesn’t do soft. He’s an evil plotting vampire. He just tried to trick me.

He could never be soft to me, that’s impossible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Simon you oblivious little shit with massive cognitive dissonance, I love you. First prompt done! :D
> 
> Tomorrow: social media!


	2. Social Media

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snow's Instagram obsession is getting out of control.

**Baz**

“It's getting so out of hand, Dev,” I moan into my palms. Dev sits across from me at the Starbucks. (Thank Merlin he and Niall have accepted my relationship or I’d have no one to complain to.) "Snow's obsessed with that bloody app. He takes pictures of everything. The sky or his food or a dog he sees on the street. Literally everything has to go on bloody Instagram."

Dev sighs heavily. “It can’t be _that_ bad, c’mon.”

I drop my hands to glare at him. “Yesterday we stood in one spot in the park for 20 minutes while he tried to take a picture of a bird. A fucking bird! We went for a nice walk and he just wanted to look at a bird. It was awful. I’m worried he’s addicted.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Baz, I think this a symptom of a deeper problem.”

“Don’t you dare go psychology student on me.”

“Shut up, this is barely psychology. More an obvious observation you’re too proud to see.” He leans forward. “Baz, you’re feeling ignored. Snow has found this new thing he’s excited about and he’s so wrapped up in it he’s ignoring you. Which hurts enough. And on top of that, admit it, part of you still doubts he truly cares about you.”

I bolt up, banging my knees on the table I move so fast. “What?! No! Of course I know he cares about me!”

“You know on a conscious level. But subconsciously, you’ve still got a bit of that doubt. You spent years believing he hated you. That doesn’t just magically go away. Deep down, you’re scared he’s ignoring you because he’s figured he doesn’t love you like you love him. And you’ve gotta talk to him about it, like an adult.”

I stare at him for awhile. He’s right and I know it, but I still hate him for it. I sigh, leaning my hand on my palm. “When did you become the mature one?”

Dev shrugs and smiles into his coffee cup. “I’ve always been the mature one. You just never noticed.”

I roll my eyes with a chuckle. I don’t know what I’d do without friends to tell when I’m being an idiot.

* * *

 

I enter the Snow-Bunce flat a few hours later. Snow and I are meant to have take out dinner and watch the Great British Bake-Off tonight. I’ll talk to him about the Instagram thing, I really will. In spite of the knots in my stomach. Crowley I’m so bad at this.

“Hello?” I call out. “You in here, Snow?”

“In the shower!” He yells, voice muffled by water. “Be out there in a second, love!”

“Alright.”

I plop myself down in the couch. My eyes drift down to the table. Snow’s phone is there, with his Instagram profile open. It’s right there. I haven’t looked at his photos myself, mostly out of pettiness. I don’t want to see the pictures he’s been ignoring me for. But fuck it’s _right there_. Maybe it’s my own self hating masochism, but I take the phone.

His handle is “simoncherryscone”. Very cute, of course. I scan over a few images. They look like what I’ve seen him photographing. A dog, a sandwich, that bloody bird. Wait, is that... me?

I tap on it. Viewing it enlarged, it’s obvious, that’s me. From the same day in the park with the bird, there’s a picture of me smiling as I look up at the trees. The sun illuminates only half my face, leaving everything else in shadow. It’s artsy beyond belief. The caption reads, “ _he smiles best when he thinks I’m not looking <3 <3 <3 #cutestboyfriend #backoffhesmine_"

I scroll down more and find more pictures of me. Laughing from across the table, standing in front of a window, asleep on his shoulder. At least half of his entire feed is just photos of me, all taken while not aware I’m being photographed, all with sickeningly heartfelt captions.

I know I should be more upset that he’s been taking pictures without my knowledge, but my heart is beating too fast. All this time I’ve been worried he’s been ignoring me with this Instagram shit. But really he was using it to post beautiful photos of me, say nice things about me, show off our relationship to others. Those unconscious fears fade away.

I barely notice when Snow walks in, damp curls plastered to his forehead and dressed in his trackies and my shirt. “Hey what- wait what’re you doing? Are you looking at my Instagram? I thought you-”

WIth determined pace and vampire speed, I cut him off with a crushing hug. He makes an “oomph” sound. But after a few seconds hugs me back.

“I love you,” I whisper against his neck.

“I... love you too?”

I pull back so I can look at him. He’s so confused it’s adorable. I run a hand over his wet hair. “You’ve been taking pictures of me, I see.”

His cheeks turn bright red, flushing all the way down to his neck. “I, uh- I-” He looks down at the ground. “I’m sorry. I just, I know you hate the site but you always look so pretty, but I should’ve asked you first and I’ll take them down now and won’t post anymore I-”

I cut off his rambling with a kiss. Just a firm press to his lips to stop his flustered words. He presses back until I pull away. Our foreheads stay tapped together.

“I don’t hate Instagram,” I whisper, “I hated that taking pictures for it was tearing your attention away from me. Because I’m an insecure asshole who gets jealous over a phone application.”

Simon’s mouth falls open. “Really?”

“Yeah. Which is stupid, I know. Because I’m stupid.”

“You’re not stupid.” He drags his hands over my arms. It’s comforting for me, something he knows. “I have been too obsessed.  I’ve been ignoring you and that’s bad. I'm really sorry. You’re more important than a silly app. I’ll delete it, and-”

I pull back and cup his cheek. “No no, don’t delete it. You love that thing. Just, maybe tone it down a bit. I'd like some attention on our dates too.”

He chuckles with a soft smile, leaning into my hand. “Okay. I’ll tone it down, I promise.”

“Thank you.”

We hug again. I stroke his hair and the small of his back. He clutches my torso with his face in my shoulder. He does love me. There’s no doubt about it in my mind now. Simon’s been using the thing I thought he was ignoring me for to show others how much he cares. It’s stupid and unbelievably sweet, just like him.

I pull away and twist a curl around my finger. “Now, shall we order some pizza?”

Simon “Yes please! I’m famished.”

“You’re always famished.”

“True, but I still want pizza.”

I chuckle and lead him to the sofa, which we flop down on. He grabs his phone to open the app. But Instagram is still open. He flicks his eye over to me, looking a bit nervous.

“Hey, wanna take a picture with me? Only if you want though.”

I smile softly, and shrug. “Sure, why not?”

Snow grins so hard his face must hurt. He leans his head on my shoulder. I know I should be looking at the camera, but I look down at him instead. Because I can’t help it. I love seeing him so happy. I love him, and he loves me.

I don’t notice the picture has been taken until Simon brings the phone closer to his face. I lean over to see what he’s typing. It reads: _“he still smiles amazingly when i’m looking too"_

My heart practically melts, like it has so many times before.

I giggle and kiss his hair. “Your poor grasp of grammar horrifies me,” I say with no menace.

“Aresehole,” he replies, equally playful.

“You love me.”

He leans up and kisses me, hard. Reaching back to tangle one hand in my hair. I hold his neck in return. Crowley, how easy it can be to get lost in Snow’s lips. He pulls back, nose still touching mine. “Yeah, I really do.”

With that look in his eyes, there's no question that he means it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Hope you enjoyed this! So the time travel one got really long and I can't finish it in time for tomorrow. I may post it later as a stand alone fic. I’ll be back soon with rainy day!


	3. Rainy Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz and Simon make the most of a rainy day on their vacation.

**Simon**

I wake up alone in the big bed. Which is surprising, considering I’ve been waking up next to Baz all week. The soft duvet is like weighted cloud holding me down. There’s a soft pattering outside the window above the bed. I look up. Rain is falling steadily, soaking the forest floor. Weird, weather report said clear skies.

I stretch as I sit up. The blanket falls down and a shiver runs down my spine. My thin sleeping shirt and boxers are no much for chilly morning wind. With the sheet around my waist, I sort through the pile of clothes in the floor for something wearable, settling on trackies and Baz’s LSE hoodie. I slip on my Spiderman fuzzy socks too. These old wood floors get fucking cold in the morning. Especially since there's no bloody insulation anywhere except in the kitchen.

I walk through the cottage. It’s a Pitch homestead, originally a fishing cabin built over a 150 years ago. (Relatively recent for their family properties, actually.) Ever since then, descendants have added onto it. And because of that each room looks quite different. The master bedroom is a wood panelled space with chipped white paint, a large old fashioned queen bed in the middle. It leads right into the blue porch dining room. They’re attached, but were actually built over a decade apart.

I take a second to look out through the screen panel walls. I can smell the wet dirt from outside, see the lake rippling in the distance. I think I could stand here, staring outside, for hours. It's too beautiful. But a different kind of rich smell draws me away.

Walking through the warm high ceilinged living room (the original fishing cabin) and the mint green breezeway, I reach the kitchen. There Baz stands, humming over the stove, wearing a different pair of my sweats and his Scandinavian jumper, hair tied up on top of his head. I lean against the doorframe for a second just to watch him. It’s a bit creepy maybe, but I can’t help it. He looks so happy, so peaceful.

“Morning, love,” I say softly, “you didn’t wake me up?”

“Wanted to let you sleep in a bit. We did hike an entire trail yesterday,” Baz says flatly. But then he turns his head slightly, showing just a corner of his smirk. “Plus I wore you pretty ragged last night too.”

I groan and roll my eyes. “Well aren’t you full of yourself.”

“Am I wrong?”

I shrug but still feel the blush on my cheeks. He notices, if his smug chuckle is any clue. “Maybe you have a point.”

“Of course I do.”

He’s such a smug bastard. I love him.

I walk up behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist and resting my chin on his shoulder. The scent of greasy bacon fills my nose.

“Smells good,” I hum happily.

“There are also pancakes and scones staying warm in the oven.”

“Ooh, fancy breakfast.” I nuzzle his neck. “You spoil me too much.”

“Duh. We already knew that. Now set the table while I finish this up.”

I kiss his cheek once, then do as he says. The whole kitchen is weirdly rustic and modern at the same time. It’s the most recent addition, built by Baz’s grandmother. The walls are made of smooth warm wood panels, meant to look old but aren’t really. The cupboards and pine table by the window are the same. But other parts aren’t even trying to pretend. The counters are modern laminate and there’s a high tech dishwasher.

I set out two places for us just as Baz finishes with the last of the bacon. He brings out all the delicious smelling food to the table. I lick my lips in anticipation. We sit down across from each other. I wait for him to go first, in an attempt at politeness.

“Just dig in, Snow,” he sighs. “I can hear your stomach from here.”

With an eyeroll, I go straight for the scones. Baz’s are the closest I’ve ever had to Cook Pritchard’s. I slather on the butter then stack on the pancakes. I eat ravenously as usual. Baz eats more carefully but takes just as much as me. He doesn’t bother to hide his fangs anymore. First year of our relationship he still ate with a hand over his mouth. I’m glad he trusts me enough now to not feel like he has to do that.

We eat in relative silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. Just sort od easy, peaceful. But it means I hear the rain and wind speed up outside. I nearly jump when a loud crack of thunder booms across the sky. Baz frowns at the window.

“Guess we’re not going canoeing after breakfast,” I chuckle.

Baz huffs with a slight frown. “No, I guess not. Unless we want to get soaked through out on the lake.”

I sigh and lean my cheek on my hand. “So what are we going to do?”

“Well, we'll just have to wait out the storm. Should clear in an hour or so.”

“Sounds good to me!” I go back to digging into the pancakes. Made with chocolate chips, of course. Baz knows me too well.

* * *

 

Four hours later, it’s still fucking raining. Falling in sheets with thunder and lightning to boot. So we’re still stuck inside.

We’re in the living room. All the heavy oak doors are closed, keeping the noise of the rain muffled. I’m stretched out on one of the uncomfortable sofas (it was made in the fifties, when everything was uncomfortable), playing on my phone. I turn to look at Baz. He’s sitting on the identical opposite couch, catching up on his readings. There’s a heavy textbook in his lap. His brow is adorably furrowed in concentration, mouthing the words as he reads. I sigh loudly in hope he’ll notice. But he’s too lost in thought. Usually I find it cute and funny how oblivious to the outside world he gets when he’s reading. Not right now though.

I walk over to stand right in front of him. Still nothing. Fuck it. I flop down on the couch and put my head right onto of his book. He jolts back immediately.

“What the hell, Snow?” He snarls.

“I’m booooored!”

He huffs, blowing some hair out of his face. “And what do you expect me to do about that?”

“First of all you could put down your bloody book. It’s Easter break. You’re allowed a little downtime, Mr. A-Plus Student.”

Baz groans, but still pulls the textbook from under my head and puts it to the side. “There. Happy?”

“Yes, very.”

“Now what?”

“Hm, I don’t know.”

He rolls his eyes, tilting his head back. “Your plan is sorely lacking, Snow.”

“Shut up, I’m thinking.”

“That’s a first.”

I pinch his stomach through the sweater. He snickers, placing a hand in my hair. Maybe we should just stay like this. Part of me wonders if I could stay here forever, head in Baz’s lap, his hand gently pulling at my curls. Just together and content. I could on a good day. But I’m too restless now. Like I used to be when I was itching for a fight. I need to be doing _something._

“How about cards?” I say quietly

Baz scoffs. “That’s _incredibly_ specific.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Know how to play gin?”

“Yes. Dev, Niall, and I use to play while drunk. Ironically enough.”

I sit up, grinning madly. “Then let’s play.”

* * *

 

“Gin!” I say for the fifth time.

“Dammit!” Baz yells, throwing down his cards. I laugh and clap happily.

“You lose once again, Pitch. That's five to zero for Simon Snow.”

“How are you so damn good at this game?”

I take the cards and start shuffling them. “We used to play this all the time in the group home. Played for candy though, so I learned to get good.”

Baz chuckles. “You learned to play gin well to win candy? Crowley, that’s the most Simon Snow thing I’ve ever heard.”

I frown. “Oh fuck off.”

“Never said it was a bad thing, love.”

He reaches across the table and puts his hand over mine. The way he smiles makes my heart melt. It’s soft, quiet, and easy, everything I used to think Baz Pitch never could be. I’ve learned better since then.

“Want to play another round?” He says.

My stomach gurgles practically on cue. “Actually, I’m pretty hungry. How about lunch?”

“Sounds good to me. What shall we make?”

I lean back in my chair, linking my hands behind my head and smiling smugly “I think the loser should have to make lunch.”

He scoffs and crosses his arms. “But I made breakfast!

“ _B_ _ut,_ you lost at gin. Five times. So you should make us lunch. Not my fault you suck.”

Baz huffs. “You’re such an arsehole.” He stands up though, and starts marching towards the kitchen. I lean out towards the door.

“I love you!” I say with a sing song.

“Arsehole!” He shouts back. I cackle proudly.

* * *

 

Baz makes grilled cheeses. But they’re all fancy with tomatoes and mustard and old cheddar. He knows I like them plain. I think it’s his small protest at having to make them. I eat mine anyway.

The storm still rages outside. I sigh and glare at the window.

“Can’t believe it still hasn’t stopped,” I mutter.

Baz shrugs. “Maybe Zeus is being pissy.”

“Zeus is a dick then.”

“Of course he is. Have you ever read Greek myth?”

I chuckle. “Got a point there.”

He sighs heavily. “It does suck that we’ve been stuck inside all day, though.”

An idea shoots through my head. An amazing, awful idea. Baz notices, his eyes narrowing at me. He slowly outs down his grilled cheese.

“Snow, what are you-”

I jump from my chair bolt out towards the doors. Making a sharp right at the breezeway, I push open the the screen door and run out into the open space outside the cottage. The water drenches me immediately. I tilt my head back, rain running through my hair and soaking my clothes. I laugh with my mouth open wide.

“For fuck’s sake, Snow!” I look forward. Baz is standing outside but under the overhang, glowering at me. “You’ll catch a cold out there!”

“Oh c’mon, Baz! Live a little, you bloody stick in the mud!”

Baz chews on his lip. I can see the gears turning in his head. His practicality clashing with his emotions. I just keep standing there, drenched in the rain, smiling at him. He sighs, then runs forward. I laugh loudly and joyfully, tilting my head back again. Baz joins me. It’s rare to hear him laugh like this. With no reservations or regard for what other’s may think. All his walls down.

I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him to me in a crushing kiss. He clutches waist in turn. Everything melts away to just the two of us. The heat of his lips easily counteracts the cold of the rain. I run a hand through his soaked hair, letting the strands slip between my fingers. He moans into my mouth and pushes us even closer together. This is all so perfect I’m pretty sure it’s a dream. And if it is, I never want to wake up.

Baz pulls back slightly, separating our mouths but keeping us close together.

“Kissing in the rain, Snow?” He chuckles, obviously more than a little breathless. “Talk about cheesy.”

“Shut up, you love it.”

He looks right into my eyes. Not shying away for even a second. “I certainly do.”

I press my lips to his again. I know he’s talking about more than just a kiss in the rain.

* * *

 

Baz passes me the hot cocoa with mini marshmallows. I stick my shaking hands out of my quilt cocoon to take it.

“T-T-Thanks,” I chatter out.

Baz sighs. “This is your own fault, y'know. You decided to run out into a thunderstorm.”

I glare at him over the mug. “F-Fuck off.”

He chuckles and sits beside me. We’ve shifted the sofa so it's right in front of the fireplace. Baz uses his wand and sets the logs aflame. It helps, and so does the cocoa. Even in fresh dry clothes I’m still chilled to my bones. Baz is better, but I see him chattering slightly.

We sit in silence for a bit, just trying to regain some warmth. Baz is lost in thought, I can tell. His eyes are distant, mind far away and thinking. His face is blank. I wonder what’s going on in that big beautiful brain of his.

“You know, I’ve always loved this place,” Baz sighs. He keeps staring at the fire, face still expressionless. “We used to come here a lot, when my mother was still alive. She loved it too. I remember her telling me how my great-great-great grandfather built it on a whim. People just kept adding rooms after him until it became this. It grew with the our ancestors. Truly a family home. Not like Hampshire, which was stuck exactly the way it was made. But this place, it’s organic, growing.” He sighs, leaning his head back. He looks calm and content. “I’ve missed it so much.”

“When’s, the last time you were here?” I ask softly.

“I think I was about six. Father and I came, a year after my mum died. But he took us back after less than a day. It was too painful, for the both of us.”

I reach across, cautiously putting my hand on his. “Is- Is it still...painful?”

“A bit. But not as much anymore. And...” He flips his hand over to grasp mine, interlocking our fingers. “And that’s why I wanted to bring you here. I don’t want this place to be painful anymore. I want to make new happy memories here. With you.”

My heart is caught in my throat. I’m more at a loss for words than usual. Nothing can truly summarise what I’m feeling right now. So I just scoot closer and wrap myself around him, putting an arm over his chest and my legs over his. My ear is pressed over his heart, hearing and feeling the soft beat. He hugs me to him and kisses my damp hair.

“We... we should come back,” I whisper. “This summer. And next year. Make it a tradition. Our tradition.”

Baz holds me tighter, if that’s even possible. “I think that’s a wonderful idea, darling.”

I close my eyes and let myself drift away. I dream of us back here in the future. Swimming in the lake, roasting marshmallows, kissing in more storms. Then it’s not just us. I see Penny and Micah and Agatha, all of us laughing together around the dining room table. I see Baz’s family here too; Mordelia and the twins chasing Baz around in a game of tag while Daphne and I laugh from the porch. Somehow it gets even better. I see Baz and I lounging on the beach, many years older with matching gold rings on our fingers. We’re grinning as we watch two little kids with curly black hair giggle and splash each other.

It feels less like a dream and more like a vision. A vision of our life together. And this cottage right here being the epicentre of it all.

I look forward to every minute of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah the ending is cheesy af, I know. I'm a sap, sue me.
> 
> Fun fact: the cottage in this story is entirely based off my own. Mine also is over 150 years old, started as a fishing cabin built by my great-great-great grandfather, and has been added on to over the years by my crazy ass family. All the stuff I described is real. (Except for the high tech dishwasher. The real one is from the eighties and half broken. Thought a high tech one worked better for the story.) But it's definitely a haphazard mess of different coloured rooms with zero insulation and a lot of rain. It's also one of my favourite places on my earth. I practically grew up there. I still stay there every summer and love being with my family in it. So I thought it'd be nice for Simon and Baz to have it too. They need happy traditions .  
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed this little mushy ass piece. Tomorrow: dreams!


	4. Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Penelope is in a void, and she can't remember how she got there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because we need a Penny centered fic cause Penelope Bunce is a badass and I love her.

**Penelope**

I don’t know where I am. It’s an empty void of darkness surrounding me. I look down at myself. I’m wearing my old Watford uniform, complete with cape and skirt. Odd, I haven’t worn this thing in ages.

“Hello?” I shout. My voice echoes through the space. No response. “Hello?!”

“Penny...” The sound comes from behind me. I whip around, and my heart climbs into my throat. No, no not again.

He’s laying on the ground, arms weakly at his side, blood pooling beneath him. His uniform is ripped to shreds, sliced open down the centre of his chest. He slowly lifts his head to look at me. His blue eyes are glassy, red dripping from the corners of his lips.

“You were too late, Pen,” he rasps. “Why didn’t you save me?”

My heart pounds in my ears. I shake my head. “No no,” I whisper. “I did save you. I did! I know I did!”

“Are...you sure?”

Yes I am sure, definitely. I reach for the memories I know are supposed to be there. But they’re murky. Like water, they slip through my fingers. Everything is blurry and unsure. Did I? Simon's alive, right? But...he’s bleeding right there. I shake my head again.

“No! I did save you! I must have!”

“You failed, Penelope,” Simon hisses, spitting blood. “You failed because you weren’t fast enough, weren’t powerful enough. You let me die!”

Tears leak from my eyes. The utter dread hits me like a cold wind. I back away, squeezing my eyes shut. “This isn’t real, this isn’t real, this isn’t real.”

“You let me die, Penny!”

I turn around and run. I run faster than I ever have in my entire life. My heart beats in my ears, adrenaline and fear spurring me forward. All I can think about is escaping. Simon’s voice still rings around me.

_You let me die, you let me die, you let me die._

I hit something solid, making me stumble back. Two rough hands grab my shoulders. Fingernails dig deeply into my skin. I look up and my breath catches in my throat. He’s smiling maniacally, blood in his mustache and covering his green clothes.

“I got rid of one nuisance,” he chuckles, sounding completely unhinged. “Now it’s your turn.”

I try to scream, but nothing comes out. There’s only silence as the Mage cuts my chest open.

* * *

 

I bolt up in bed, still screaming. I’m drenched in sweat, pulse beating furiously everywhere in my body. My blankets are tangled around me. Right,  _my_ blankets, in my bed, in Simon and my flat. That we moved into after Watford. Which means...

“Penny?!” I hear him from the other side of my door. “Pen, you okay?”

I can’t answer. My voice shrinks and disappears in my throat, too overwhelmed and afraid. Simon pushes the door open, and I let out a shaky breath, because he’s suddenly just _there_. With his ratty sleep shirt and fleece Spiderman pajama bottoms, his tangled curly hair and red wings spread out behind him. He’s not dead, not bleeding on the ground of the Whitechapel because I failed. I’m so relieved I can’t help but cry. Simon runs forward, wrapping his arms around me.

“Hey hey,” he whispers. “It’s alright. Whatever happened, it wasn’t real. None of it was real.”

“It...felt so real though,” I whisper into his shoulder.

“I know, Pen. I know.”

He climbs onto the mattress next to me. I hug his torso, burying my face in his chest. He strokes my hair softly. I just listen to the sound of his breathing. It ground me in reality, reminding me that we both survived, that we escaped that Hell a long time ago.

There’s a soft knocking at my open door. I look up slightly. Baz stands there, dressed in his LSE sweater and Simon’s trackies, hair hanging in his face. He’s holding my favourite mug, steam wafting off it.

“May I come in?” he says quietly.

Simon looks down at me. I nod slowly. Baz walks in and sits on the end of my mattress. He offers the mug, holding it out towards me.

“It’s tea, lavender. Supposed to be relaxing. Helps me after I have a nightmare.”

I sit up slightly and take it. Simon’s still holding my other hand. I take a deep drink. The warmth spreads through my body, instantly de-stressing me a bit. I finish it in practically one gulp, letting out a long sigh when I’m done. Baz takes the now empty mug.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“You’re welcome, Penelope,” he replies. And I faintly realise that in all the years I’ve known him, this is probably only the third time he’s called me by my first name. A smile tugs at the corner of my lip. Yeah, he does care, the big vampire softie.

I sink back down onto Simon’s chest. His arms are wrapped around me, rubbing soothing circles on my back. I faintly hear Baz leave and return. He and Simon whisper their conversation, meaning I only catch a few words.

“Sorry...needs me...” Simon says.

“Don’t worry...understand...stay in your room...night,” he replies. I hear him press a kiss to Simon’s forehead and walk out, closing the door behind him.

Simon keeps holding me, humming a soft tune. I look up.

“Sorry about this, Simon,” I say quietly.

“Don’t be sorry, Pen,” he replies, hugging me tighter. “You can’t help the nightmares. None of us can.”

“Yeah, but I just, I hate feeling so...helpless. Like you’re just trapped there and there’s nothing you can do.”

He sighs, petting my hair. “I know. It’s total hell. But we wake up eventually. And we’re safe here. We got out.”

I sigh. “Yeah, we did.” I yawn deeply. Crowley, I think the nightmare made me even more tired than I was before.

“Go back to sleep, Penny. I’ll be right here.”

“You’ll fight off the nightmares, huh?”

He grins widely, showing all his teeth, blue eyes sparkling. “Of course. I’m the big hero, remember? Magic or not, I’m always gonna fight off evil.”

I chuckle. Slowly, I lay back down on his chest. He runs one hand up and down my back, the other massaging my temple. I fall asleep with his arms around. With my very alive best friend holding me, making sure I’m okay. And that’s all I need to fight off the nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this isn't too similar to my previous nightmare fic. I tried to make them different. Hope you all like it :)  
> Next up: Angst!!!


	5. Angst Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jennifer keeps seeing a strange man at her work. She decides to finally talk to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's angst day please don't hate me.

I expected that working as a groundskeeper at a cemetery would be pretty depressing. And it is. But there is one thing that’s just...weird.

It started my first Saturday. I was mowing around the headstones like usual. It was getting late, so there wasn’t supposed to be anyone. People usually did their mourning in the middle of the day. But when I reached the end of the grounds, there was one person. A man specifically.

He was, honestly, kind of scary looking. Unearthly pale skin, slicked back raven hair, and cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. He wore a white button down and grey slacks. He stood there in front of a small stone, just staring at it. He wasn’t really looking it, more looking through it. His expression was entirely unreadable.

I didn’t even realise I was staring at him until him until he turned to me. He narrowed his grey eyes at me and my blood went cold. I ran off before suffering further embarrassment.

It would’ve been weird if it happened once. But it just kept happening. Every Saturday, same guy, staring at the same grave, for two months. He never says anything. Just keeps looking at it. He’s almost always dressed the same, like he’s off to business meeting. But he just stares at the headstone. And he’s there all day, for my entire shift. Never moves an inch.

It’s starting to bug me.

I sit on a bench, munching on my sandwich. I barely notice Olivia sit next to me.

“Hey Jen,” she says, “what’s up?”

My heart stutters out of beat for a second, just seeing her, but my mind too occupied. “Have you seen that guy?”

She looks at me blankly. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“Y’know, that guy! He’s here every Saturday, and he just looks at one grave. Doesn’t say anything, just stares at it for, hours! I do a round of the grounds and he’s still there when I get back. I mean, who is he?”

“Have you thought about, I don’t know, asking him?”

I look down at my shifting feet. “He’s, uh, very scary looking.”

Olivia groans. “Good god Jennifer, you are pathetic.”

“Shut up, you haven’t seen him”

She stands up and grabs my hand, hauling me to my feet. “C’mon, let’s go.”

I blink at her confused. “Go where?”

“Go see this mysterious grave! First step to figuring this guy out is to know what he’s looking at, right?”

She stares at me with a big grin, and my heart beats faster. I hope my blush isn’t too obvious. Curse this stupid adolescent crush. I’m 26 years old and this one girl makes my whole world spin out of control. And I can’t say no to her. I sigh heavily.

“Fine.”

She drags me across the grounds (and I let her). I stop when we reach the spot, which I’ve memorised.

“There, that one.”

We walk to it. I brush off some of the red and yellow leaves. Olivia reads it out slowly.

“‘Simon Snow-Pitch,’” she says. “‘Beloved husband, father, and friend. 1997-2086’.” She turns to me confused. “So...it’s a dead guy. We work in a cemetery. It isn't that surprising?”

“But, it doesn’t make sense! The guy who comes here, he’s, 40 at most. This man was 89 when he died. How did they know each other?”

“I don’t know. Old relative?”

“Would you spend an entire day standing in front of the grave of an old relative?”

Olivia shrugs. “Well I wouldn’t. But I’m not this mystery guy. Maybe he would. And maybe, if you talked to him, you could find out.”

I glare at her, but she just smiles and my ill will vanishes. Dear lord, I’m so far gone for her. If only I wasn’t such a coward. I just smile back.

“Fine.”

She slaps my back, send a jolt of sensation through my system. “Good! Now c’mon, we’ve got actual work to do.”

I roll my eyes and follow behind her. But I take one last glance at Mr. Snow-Pitch’s grave stone. I wonder if I’ll actually find out what the hell is going on.

* * *

 

It’s Saturday again. I’m making my rounds with lawn mower, and I see him, looking exactly the way he has for the past three months. I freeze. It takes awhile to work up the nerve. But before I know it, I’m slowly walking towards him.

“Um, hello,” I say weakly.

He whips around to glare at me. “What?” His accent is posh, tone unbelievably sharp. I slink back slightly.

“Uh, sorry. I was just wondering...are you alright?”

He glares harder. “Why is that any of your business?”

“Well, I work here. You’ve been coming here every Saturday for three months, and I keep seeing you, and I just wanted to ask if you’re okay.”

His glare softens slightly, and he takes a deep breath with his eyes close. Slowly he turns back to the grave. “Depends on your definition of okay.”

I take the tiniest step closer to him. “Well, I’m guessing that you’re grieving, so not that okay.”

“I’m not grieving anymore,” he says flatly. “I already did that for the past year. I’m just...not sure what I’m supposed to do now.”

I have no idea how to respond to that, so we go back into silence, both looking at the grave. It’s many minutes before I find the nerve to speak again.

“May I ask,” I say cautiously, “who was this man? To you, I mean.”

His face tenses, lips pressed together and eyes scrunched up. I look down at his hand. And for the first time, I notice he’s wearing a gold wedding band. He spins it and lets out a single long breath.

“He was my husband,” he finally says.

My eyes go wide. Wow, not what I was expecting. “Oh, uh, okay...”

He glares again. His voice is like poison. “What, got something against two men being married?”

I wave my hands. “No! No, of course not! I mean, I’m bi, so it’d be pretty weird if I was against it.”

He softens, the smallest smile tugging on his lip. “Glad that’s not an issue.”

“I just meant, according to the dates on the headstone, your husband was 89 when he died. You don’t look a day over forty. Either you’ve got a great dermatologist or you’re like, a vampire or something.” I chuckle to try and offset the tension.

He chuckles too. “Wow, first guess. Good job. But I’m not totally immortal. I age slower, but I do still age. Just...not as fast as he did.”

I gawk at him. My mind is racing. “Wait, you’re saying you’re...actually immortal? Are you like, a god or something?”

He looks at me blankly, no emotion on his sharp face. “No, you were right the first time. I’m a vampire.”

We just keep staring at each other. He doesn’t start laughing or smiling. So, I think he’s serious. And weirdly enough, it makes sense. The pale skin, the ageless appearance, staying out at all night.

“Wow. That’s, uh, pretty...”

“Weird?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Hey, you were the one who brought it up. I’m just too tired to come up with a stupid nonsensical explanation.” He sighs and looks down again. “He didn’t think it was weird. I mean, he was scared of me when he just suspected, and thought I was going to kill him. But once he knew I wasn’t, that I never would, he was actually...very interested. Kept asking all these silly questions and wanting to touch my fangs. I told him he was being an idiot, and he was. But it was still cute.”

He smiles, genuinely, for the first time since I’ve seen him. It's a sort of calm happiness. I think he’s replaying the memory in his head. Just from that look, I can tell he really loved this man.

“He sounds pretty great,” I say.

“He was. Crowley, he was...incredible. I don’t how an arsehole like me got someone as wonderful as him.”

I take another step towards him. “How, long were you two married?”

He keeps fiddling with his ring, rolling it between his long fingers. “Over sixty years. We had known each other since we were 11 though. But, it was complicated. We didn’t start dating until we were 18.”

“Young love, huh?”

“Mm, very young. I fell in love with him when I was 15. We got married at 22, right after graduation, but I would've done it earlier in a heartbeat. We nearly gave my very traditional father a heart attack though. He kept telling us to wait a little bit longer, until we were older. I promptly reminded him that he married my mother very young too. Put an end to any protests.”

I laugh. “That’s amazing. Nice job.”

“Thanks. He was impressed too. Called me ‘bloody awesome badass.’” He sighs heavily. Slowly, he sinks down to ground, crossing his legs. I copy him. He reaches out and touches the name etched on it.

“I’m not sure why I keep coming here,” he mutters. “My daughter told me I should. Says I should try to talk to him. But I don’t know what to say. What do you say to your now dead husband of sixty four years? Merlin, I’m having an easier time talking to you, and I don’t even know you! What does that say?”

I scoot a bit closer. Our knees brush slightly. He flicks his eyes to me. “I think it means, you miss him a lot. And now that he’s gone, you’re not sure what to do now. Sixty four years is a long time. Now you’ve got to find a new normal, without him in it. Talking to his grave is new, and really hard.”

His eyes flick over to me for a brief second. “You speak like you have experience.”

I shrug. “My mum died when I was 18. Car crash, just an accident. I know what it’s like to lose someone suddenly.”

He sighs. “It wasn’t sudden, though. I’ve dealt with sudden, when my mother died. Simon, he just got sick. He was old, we knew he wasn’t going to make it. I prepared myself, our children, our grandchildren. But...”

“But it still felt like the whole world was crashing down, huh? No matter how ready you were.”

He looks at me. But his eyes are round, the steely grey of them softened. He nods slowly. “Yeah actually, it did. Still does, even a year later.” He shakes his head. “It’s so, weird. I’m always able to talk to my mother’s grave. But I always have something to tell her. I don’t know what to say to him.”

“Well, you said your mum’s death was sudden. So you didn’t get a chance to say the things you wanted to. His wasn’t. So, is there anything you felt you left unsaid?”

His hand freezes on the grave. It slowly falls down into his lap. He chews at his lip, brow furrowed together. “I don’t think so. We talked all the time. Nothing important went unspoken. And, when he fell ill, I told him I loved him, how much I’d miss him. And he...he said he loved me too. But that I shouldn’t stop living without him. And that he’d know if I stopped, because he’d be watching over me like a hawk. That even in death he wouldn’t let me get away with fucking up my own life.”

He chuckles, and I see a single tear fall down his cheek. He doesn’t move to wipe it away. Just keeps looking at the stone. “I held his hand, you know. He wasn’t conscious near the end. He just looked like he was asleep. I could tell he was still hanging on for me. So I told him, ‘you can go now. I’ll be okay. I love you, I always will, but I’ll carry on.’ And...he just stopped breathing. He let go, because I told him he could. But I couldn’t let go of his hand. I didn’t for another hour until our children said we had to go.”

The tears keep falling. He finally does something about them, delicately flicking them off his face. “Fuck, I haven’t cried since the funeral. Now I’m sitting here pouring my soul out to a stranger and crying like a baby. And I don’t even know your bloody name.”

Slowly, I turn towards him. I offer my hand. “I’m Jennifer. Jennifer Lowell.”

He looks at it cautiously for a few seconds. Then he grasps it. His skin is as cold as ice. (Of course, he’s a _vampire_.) “Basilton Snow-Pitch. Most people call me Baz.”

I shake with him once and we let go. We sit knee to knee, staring at his husband’s grave. Baz goes back to tracing over the letters. He stops crying, but the tears cling to his face.

“So,” I say slowly. “You took each other’s names, huh?”

Baz smiles slightly, just a bit. “Yeah. He insisted. Said if we were going to be married we were going to have the same damn name. It was ridiculous, but so was he, so.” He shrugs.

“It’s sweet. He sounds very sweet.”

“He was, in the most stupid, reckless ways possible. Even when he was being an idiot, he was being a kind and thoughtful idiot.”

“And you told him that?”

He smiles wider, so much his cheeks must hurt. “All the damn time.”

“That’s good. It’s good he knew.”

“Yeah. I’m glad I got to tell him. Even...even if I can’t anymore.”

I know the double meaning in his words. I remember feeling the exact same way when my mother died. How much it hurt when she was gone. But how thankful I was to have her in my life in the first place. I reach out my hand again, palm facing up. Baz slowly takes it, lacing his fingers with mine.

“How did you two meet and get together?” I say quietly.

He chuckles with a head shake. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“You already told me you’re a vampire, and I believed that, didn’t I?”

Baz scoffs, but then sighs. “Very well, if you insist.” He looks up at the dark sky. “We went to this special school, believe it or not, for magicians. We both were mages. And this magic ritual made us roommates. I remember seeing him and just thinking what a mess he looked like. And he was a mess, of course. Was for his whole life. But Merlin, he was a beautiful mess, even then.”

I giggle. He continues with his story. Going beyond their first meeting into a harrowing tale of wizards and wars and holding each other up when their worlds fell apart. It’s hard to wrap my brain around it. But I do. Because it’s a beautiful story of true love in the face of impossible odds. I hang on every word.

* * *

 

I walk Baz to his car. I’m laughing as he details the time Simon nearly burnt their house down trying to make French toast.

“I can’t believe you two survived!” I sputter.

“Me neither!”

We burst into hysterical laughter. We stop at his black BMW. Baz sighs and shoves his hands in his pockets. “I should get home. Tasha is probably very worried.”

“Your daughter, right?”

“Yeah. She’s been fussing over me for the past year. I keep telling her I’m okay, but she’s so worried.”

I shrug “Maybe she’s just channeling her grief into worry?”

He nods slowly. “Probably. Easier to fuss over me. Still, I should get home.”

“Yeah.”

We look at each other for awhile. His face isn’t blank, but just calm. I hold out my hand again. “It’s been nice meeting you, Baz.”

He takes it. “Likewise, Jennifer.”

Oh, fuck it. I surge forward and hug him. He inhales sharply, completely frozen. “You’ll see him again someday,” I whisper. “And you’ll carry on until then. I know you will.”

I feel him slowly wrap his thin arms around me. “Thank you,” he says, voice cracking a bit.

I pull back, holding his shoulders. “If...you ever need to talk again, or just want to meetup, you know where to find me.”

He nods. “I do. Have a good night.”

“You too.”

He climbs into his car and with one last wave, he drives off. I let out a long breath. My whole world feels like it’s changed. There’s magic and vampires and dragons. But more miraculous than that, there’s true love. Real, honest to god true love. Simon and Baz had it, no doubt. I can only hope to find something even close to what they had. But I have more hope now. And that’s enough.

* * *

 

After I’m done my shift on Monday, I go to Simon’s grave. It’s weird. I never knew him when he was alive, but I feel like I do know him. I know that his favourite food was sour cherry scones (even in his eighties), that he was a brilliant swordsman but a shit wizard, that he sang Blackbird by the Beatles to his kids every night, that he never met his parents, and so much else. It makes me wish I did know him when he was alive.

“Hey!”

I turn to see Olivia running towards me, bronze curls bouncing with her. I grin. “Hey, Liv.”

“You’re back here, huh?”

I look down at the grave. “Yeah.”

“Did you talk to scary guy?”

“Uh-huh. He’s not that scary, once you talk to him.”

“Did you get your answers, then?”

I smile wider and nod. “Yeah, definitely.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

“Me too.”

Olivia tilts back and forth on her heels a bit. “Anyway, my shift’s done. So I’m gonna head out.”

She starts to leave. I keep looking at Simon’s headstone. I remember what Baz told me, how Simon fought his fears to kiss him the middle of a fucking forest fire. If he could do that, I can get over my own hang ups.

“Olivia wait!” I chase after her. She turns in place. “My shifts over too. Do you want to go somewhere? Like go get drinks?”

Her eyes go wide. “Are, you asking me on a date?”

I bite my lip, looking down at my hands. “Uh, yeah. You don’t have to say yes though, I-”

“Yes.”

My head snaps up. Olivia is grinning with all her face. “What?”

“Yeah, let’s go. I’d love to.”

I sigh, all the tension escaping my body in one breath. “Alright. Let’s get changed out of these coveralls and go.”

She nods vigorously. “Okay. Meet you in the parking lot?”

“Sure.”

Olivia leans forward and kisses my cheek. My entire body freezes up in shock and joy. She pulls back, still grinning. “See you in a bit.”

“Yeah.”

With that, she dashes off, practically skipping. I giggle. God, the chances. Maybe Olivia is my Simon, maybe not. But I should at least try. Simon and Baz tried and it paid off. Hopefully, it’ll pay off for me too. I turn to look at Simon’s grave. Who knew a dead man I never met could be inspiring.

“Thanks,” I say.

A gust of wind brushes by my ear, and for just a brief second, I swear there’s a rough but warm voice in it. The smallest whisper tickling my ear drum.

 _Thank_ you _, Jennifer. For helping him when I can’t._

I look around. I’m the only one here. Slowly, I look up at the white clouds above. Well, if magic and vampires and true love are real, why not heaven?

“No problem, Simon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry! I know it's sad, but at least it's hopeful right? I apologize if this made you cry to much. I know I was bawling when I wrote it. Also I know it's weird for Jennifer to just immediately believe him, but hey, I would. Maybe she would too.  
> So I couldn't finish a fic for tomorrow or the day after sadly. (University=death) But the fave trope one is evolving into a longer fic that I may post later. I'll be back on the 3rd with flowers! :D


	6. Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon's life is upturned by another man bursting into his family flower shop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this will probably be the longest fic here. I let it spin out of control. It's not my best writing, I know. But I hope blushy embarrassed Simon makes up for that.  
> Shoutout to my Tumblr bestie NewYearsEveBaby02 because this fic would not exist without her. She gave me so many ideas and so much support. She is the real MVP.  
> Now, enjoy!

**Simon**

I’m lounging on the counter when he bursts in. The man who disrupts my whole life.

Working at a flower shop is usually slow as hell. So when my Mum is out, I can get away with lying on the front counter, throwing my red ball up in the air, thinking about my next assignment for uni (unfortunately).

He slams the door open violently, causing an equally violent crashing noise. I yelp and roll off behind the counter.

“Ouch,” I mumble, rubbing my bruised elbow.

“Mother, I’m here, alright?” Injury causing man shouts. “You can stop freaking out. I will get the bouquet, then I will take a cab right back. Stop yelling! It will not make me do it any faster. Dear lord, Mum, you’re not going to have any voice for your speech if you keep going like this. Goodbye, Mother. Bye!”

He rapidly hits the counter bell, sending out a loud and annoying ‘ding ding ding’. “Hello? Anyone here?”

Shit, I’m still on the ground. I bounce up. And my breath catches.

He’s my age, I think. But he’s about ten times more attractive, which is wholly unfair. His high cheekbones look like were carved by a renaissance sculptor. His hair is dark and slicked back with a stark widow’s peak, like some thirties era movie villain. The impeccable black suit only helps that comparison. He looks at me blankly with deep, swirling grey eyes, and I lose my ability to form speech.

“Hello?” He says, waving an elegant long fingered hand in front of me. “Are you a mannequin or something?”

Shit, still haven’t said anything. I shake my head. “No, no. Hi! Welcome to Rosebud Flowers, how can I help you?”

“I need a table arrangement.”

I wait for him to say more. But he keeps standing there, both hands on the counter. “You’re...going to need to be more specific than that.”

He sighs and rubs his forehead. “Your store filled an order for Grimm-Pitch yesterday, correct?”

“Yeah,” I say flatly. Of course I remember. I assembled half those arrangements myself. My hand hurt for hours after trimming them.

“Well, they’re for a gala, and my little sister broke one of the arrangements today so my mother is having a melt down over it. Could you possibly assemble one more?”

I scratch the back of my neck nervously. “Uh, well, we’re out of black roses, because of your order yesterday-”

“Dammit!” Handsome man slams his fist on the counter, making me jump. He massages his temple. “Sorry. Just, not looking forward to telling my Mum.”

He looks less angry now. More at his wit’s end, really. Damn, I feel bad for him.

“But...” I say tentatively. “I’ve got some regular red ones. Would that okay?”

His head snaps up. He smiles brightly. I try to ignore the way my pulse stutters at that bright grin. “Yes! That’d be marvelous!”

I smile back, and my heart nearly beats out of my chest. “Gimme like, five minutes.”

I race to the back of the store. We keep most of the roses in the back, because they tend to sell out way too fast. With practiced speed, I assemble an identical arrangement to the ones I did yesterday. (Considering the number of these things I made, the image is practically burned into my brain.) I add the last complementary green parrot tulip, take a final look, and dash out.

“Here!” I say, holding it up. Mystery Posh Man sighs with relief.

“Thank you _so_ much,” he replies. “You have just literally saved my life. You’re a superhero.”

I really hope the heat on my face isn’t too obvious. “No problem, man.”

“Here. For the trouble.” He puts 50 quid on the counter and my eyes bulge out.

“Oh my god! No, you don’t have to. Your Mum already paid for the order. And that-that’s way too much.”

He shakes his head. “I insist. I came barging in here like a madman and you still helped me.”

I shrug, a smile pulling at my mouth. “Well, it is my job.”

He chuckles and it sounds like a warm breeze. “Please.” He pushes the bill forward. “Please just take it. It’ll feel wrong if you don’t.”

I chew on my lip. The feeling turns in my gut uncomfortably. Part of me feels bad for wanting to take it. But, on the other hand, I did race around making it for him. And he made me bruise my elbow. And...he’s really cute. Not taking it would make him sad. I don’t want to know what he looks like sad.

I sigh, and take the money. “Thank you,” I say.

He grins ear to ear. “You’re welcome.”

“Good luck at the gala.”

“Thank you. Believe me, I need it.” He rolls his eyes and flashes me one last smirk. Then he’s out the door. And by extension my life. My stomach aches realising I’ll probably never see him again. I sigh. Oh well, I guess. Not like anything interesting ever happens to me anyway.

* * *

 

Penny warned me about back problems caused by excessive textbook carrying. I didn’t listen to her, but right now I fucking wish I did. My spine feels like it’s been bent into a question mark. I’m practically doubled over as I trudge down the sidewalk. And I’m still twenty minutes from home.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a little coffee shop, “The Midnight Grind.” My stomach growls, promptly reminding me I haven’t eaten anything since a granola bar for lunch. (It’s like my whole body hates me, honestly.) Shit, I could really use a bite to eat.

I dig around in my pockets for some change, but pull out the 50 pound note instead. A week later and I still haven’t used it. Not that it’s bad or I haven’t needed it. I’d just feel weird using a fifty for anything. But considering my lack of any other funds, I guess this time is as good any.

I push open the heavy café door. It’s warm and cozy. Soft lights, pine wood tables, burgundy armchairs. Everything just feels calmer in here. I go to the counter, where a beautiful blonde woman is at the register. Her name tag says “Agatha”.

“Hello,” she says cheerily. “Welcome to the Midnight Grind. What can I get you?”

“Uh, a latte and a cherry scone please,” I reply.

“Sure thing. Name for the cup?”

“Simon.”

She scribbles out the letter on the white cup. “Awesome. Thanks Simon. Your order will be ready in a few minutes at the end of the counter.”

“Thanks.”

I trudge to the end and pull out my phone. There’s messages from Penny telling me when we’re hanging out tomorrow. There’s more from my Botany 101 study group, mostly Gareth sending plant memes. I decide to just scroll through my Instagram (which is mostly just cute dogs.) (I like dogs, sue me.)

“Alright, got one latte and cherry scone for Simon- Oh my god it’s you!”

I whip up to face the voice’s owner. And my heart stops.

He looks very different out of a suit, dressed in a white v-neck and grey apron instead. His hair is pulled back in what should be a ridiculous looking man bun, but it somehow works on him. His face is still terrifyingly sharp, but it’s softened by his square wireframe glasses and expression of utter shock. He’s frozen with the coffee and scone still in hand.

“Holy shit,” I whisper. “It’s you. Posh suit guy.”

He laughs, open mouthed and amused. It still feels very warm. “Seriously? That’s how you remember me?”

“Well, you were wearing a suit.”

He rolls his beautiful grey eyes, but keeps smiling. “Believe me, that’s not what I usually wear.”

My goes hot with embarrassment. “Right! Yeah, of course. Just...wow. I didn't think I'd ever see you again.”

“Me neither. Especially since I never got your name.” He looks at the cup with a smirk. “Though I do now, 'Simon’.”

“Same goes for you Mr....” I look down at his apron, and frown in confusion. “What kind of name is ‘Baz’?”

“One that’s short for Basilton.”

I look at him blankly for a second. “What kind of name is Basilton?”

It's out of my mouth before I can stop it. I inhale sharply, waiting for him to be pissed or something. But instead, he just chuckles and shakes his head. Not even a hint of anger.

“An annoyingly posh one, obviously,” he says. “Hence why I prefer Baz.”

My anxiety melts away. I just smile back. “I can certainly understand that.”

We go silent. All the words I think of seem insufficient or stupid. I look him over. He's somehow even more attractive in casual wear. I notice he's wearing dark skinny jeans and try not to stare. But they fit him _really_ well.

“Y’know, you should probably take these before they go cold.”

Posh Man’s- wait, no, _Baz’s_ voice snaps me out of it. “Oh, yeah, sorry.” I take the warm cup and scone. “I should probably get home anyway. Got some much work. Uni and all...”

“Oh yeah I understand! I’m stuck here for another two hours. But...” He rubs the back of his neck. I can’t help but stare at the way his bicep flexes. (Fuck I feel like such a horny teenager.) “I’m free tomorrow. Want to hang out?”

I nod far more eagerly than I should. “Yeah! I have to work at the shop, but we could get lunch.”

He smiles. “Wonderful. Meet you at noon?”

“Sure! Sounds, awesome.” Awesome? Am I 12? Fuck he’s making all my speech dumb.

“See you tomorrow then, Simon.”

“Yeah, see you.”

I walk to the door, but sneak one last look at Baz. But he’s looking too. I wrench my gaze away before my blush gets too bad. As I walk down the street, I don’t hunch over. My body feels too light for that.

* * *

 

The morning at the shop goes by in a blur. I can barely focus on the present, my mind too busy imagining the future. It’s understandable right? How is someone supposed to pay attention to flower organization when they’re having lunch with a really cute posh suit wearing barista boy? I keep looking at the clock and praying it moves faster.

After an hour of no customers, I take my usual place of lounging on the counter, bouncing my ball against the opposite wall. I remember doing this for hours back at the cabin when there was nothing to do, which was most of the time. Now it’s just comforting, a familiar repetition to keep me occupied. Which I desperately need right now.

“Well this is a familiar scene.”

I nearly fall down from turning my head so violently. Baz stands at the door, smirking with his arms crossed. He’s dressed in a green t-shirt and those (amazing) black skinny jeans. Instead of slicked back or in a bun, his hair falls loose around his face. How does he look better every time I see him?

I scramble to my feet and to subtly flatten my staticky hair. “Haha, yeah...slow day again,” I say, the nervous tinge in my voice very obvious. “Ready to go?”

“Obviously. I’m here aren’t I?”

God, how does he turn me into even _more_ of a bumbling idiot? “R-Right. Let’s go.”

My shoulder brushes his as I walk out the door. And it sends a very noticeable jolt through my system. Holy shit, what am I getting myself into?

After some debate over pizza versus Starbucks, we go with Subway. I get a ham sandwich while Baz chooses a meatball marinara. We sit opposite each other at the dingy brown table. It feels like ages before I muster up something to say.

“So, what school do you go to? I-If you’re in school, that is.”

Baz chuckles. “Yeah, I’m in school. I go to LSE.”

“Wow. That’s fancy.”

“Posh suit guy, remember?” He says with a knowing smirk.

I roll my eyes. “Oh right. With his elegant gala flower arrangements.” I lean forward more. “What ‘gala’ were those flowers for, anyway? Black roses are super fancy and expensive.”

“Well, the gala was certainly fancy and expensive. They were for a fundraising event. My mother is the headmaster at a high end private school. Gotta sway those donors right? Floral arrangements make a good first impression.”

“Damn, posh suit guy has a posh family. What a surprise.”

He rolls his eyes and pokes my shoulder (another jolt, dammit). “Shut up. How about you, huh? How did you end up at that flower shop? Not exactly a typical student job.”

I nod steadily in agreement. “Yeah, I know. Funnily enough, it has to do with my Mum too. It’s her shop. She started it after she divorced my Dad.”

His face crumbles a bit. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“No no, don’t be.” I wave my hand dismissively. “He’s a total prick. We left when I was 11 and he’s talked to me a total of five times since then, all over the phone.”

Baz’s eye bulge out, making his glasses slide down his thin nose. He pushes them back up with a long finger. “Damn. And I thought my father could be an arse.”

“Yeah, no one compares to the arseholery of one Davy Mage.”

Baz laughs loudly, throwing his head back. It’s warm and hearty like a summer’s day. “His name is seriously Davy Mage?”

I shrug with a smile. “So he says. I’m pretty sure he made it up but I have no proof.”

“God, that’s rich. At least I have the excuse of my parents giving me my stupid name.”

“Yeah, at least. Hey what is your full name? Is it all stupid?”

Baz looks at me over his glasses. There’s a playful glint in his eyes that makes my heart race and palms sweat. “Sorry, rosebud boy, but I like to keep a little air of mystery.”

I groan and roll my eyes. “Fine. And please don’t call me that. It’s what my mother calls me that and it’s bloody embarrassing.”

“Oh now I’m going to use it all the time.”

I lower my forehead into my hands. “Dammit.”

He lets out another gorgeous laugh. “Your own fault.” He takes a bite of his meatball sub and the tomato sauce squirts out. It dribbles in two lines down his chin. I snort out a laugh involuntarily, earning a glare from Baz.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, lips curled in an annoyed frown.

“Nothing!” My tone isn’t very convincing. So his expression doesn’t change. “It’s just, the sauce, it looks like you’ve got blood on your chin. Like you’re a vampire or something. And I mean,” I gesture to his face, “the cheekbones and widow’s peak only help the comparison.”

He scoffs, but a smile reluctantly pulls at his mouth. “Fuck off. Can’t help if I look like an Egyptian Bela Lugosi.”

I laugh genuinely, and his smile widens. We eat and chat for what seems like forever. I almost forget I have to go back the store. Baz walks me back after we’re done.

“Okay, you seriously have _four_ younger siblings?!” I say, trying to keep up with his long legged strides.

He sighs and nods. “Yes. Three sisters and a brother.”

“Holy shit! That must be insane!”

“Believe me, it is. Especially since two of the girls are twins. They cause twice the trouble together.”

I put a hand to my chest. “Oh my god I’m so glad I’m an only child.”

“As you should be. Small children are nightmares.”

We stand in front of the shop. Baz sighs, hooking his thumbs in his pockets. “Well, this is your stop, I believe. I must say, I had fun today.”

“Yeah, me too.” I rub my wrist nervously, biting my lip.

“You know, if...you ever want to come by the Grind again, I work there during the school week. It’s a great place to study or just hang out, in my opinion.”

I cock an eyebrow. “Are you just trying to get more business for your café?”

He scoffs, punctuating with an exaggerated eyeroll. “Well, I get the same shitty wage either way, so no. Just...if you want to see me again...”

“Yeah,” I say far too eagerly. “Yeah, sure. I’d definitely like a quiet place to study.”

Baz practically beams and my heart ceases to function. “Fantastic. I guess I’ll see you again soon, Simon.” He hold his hand out. I gladly take it. His skin is rough and scratchy. I really like the way it feels against my palm.

“Yeah definitely.”

I stare at his smiling face, the rest of the world fading away around him. It takes me a few seconds to realise we’re still holding hands. Baz is looking at me a bit curiously. My face goes red and I pull away.

“S-See you,” I stutter out before quickly going into the store, not even looking back at Baz. I put my hands on the counter to steady myself. Shit, be still my beating heart, seriously. I don’t know if he’s just being friendly or, y’know, not friendly. I guess I’ll have to go to that café on Monday to find out. That’s the best option, really.

* * *

 

Okay, it’s official; I have a crush.

I’ve been coming to the Midnight Grind every day after school for a week. And every day I sit at a table and try to study, but my eyes keep wandering to Baz behind the counter. He smiles politely to the customers, even the rude ones. But when they’re gone he looks right at me and rolls his eyes, flashing an actual smile. It’s not just polite, but genuine and lively. And makes every cell in my brain explode like fireworks.

I’m so screwed.

“What have you got there, rosebud boy?”

Baz crashes into the chair opposite me, having finally finished his shift. He drapes across the armchair with all his long limbs.

“Got a big test on plant breeding tomorrow,” I say. (I hope if I don’t acknowledge the nickname long enough he’ll stop using it.) “Have to cram all this into my head.”

He leans forward and snatches the textbook from my lap. I’m about to protest, but Baz raises a finger, and I promptly close my mouth. He pushes his glasses onto his forehead and squints at the page. I’ve never thought that anyone looks cute while frowning, but he does. Well, he looks cute no matter what.

“This makes absolutely no sense to me,” he mutters.

“Well duh.” I snatch the book back. “You’re a finance student. You deal with numbers, not chemicals”

He humphs and pushes his glasses back down. “Chemicals are numbers, arsehole.”

“Different kinds of numbers though. I’d like to see you try to take this test.”

Baz leans forward in the chair. “Well I’d like to see _you_ try one of my exams. I’ve got one on the history of the stock market on Tuesday.”

“That sounds like my hell.”

“Hey it’s mine too, I understand.” He tilts his head back, stretching out his long neck. “Ugh, I should probably get home and study too.”

My brain generates an idea. A terribly amazing idea. I slowly close my book. “Well, in that case, I uh, I could walk you home.”

Baz’s eyebrows shoot up, and I’m about to retract my statement. But then he smiles, the same genuine one I’ve been seeing all day, the one that makes brain fireworks.

“That’d be great. I could use some company.”

Fuck. Goodbye fireworks, hello nuclear explosion. I start packing up my stuff. “C’mon then, let’s go.”

* * *

 

“No no, I’m serious. Cherry scones _are_ the best food. Ever!” I throw my arms up for effect.

Baz looks at me like I’m being an extra special idiot. “So you’ve tried every food ever made, and decided that cherry scones are the best?”

I shrug. “Well, based on the sample of foods I’ve tried, yes. They are the best.”

He shakes his head, chuckling slightly. “I’ll have to try one sometime. Just to see what all the fuss is about.”

“Obviously!”

Baz stops in front of a fancy apartment building. He smirks as he turns to look at me. “Well, looks like the roles have reversed today. This is my stop.”

“Oh, cool.” I try (and fail) to hide the disappointment in my voice. “I guess I’ll get-”

“Basil!”

We both whip around to face the very loud voice. A woman stomps towards us from inside the building, flinging the door open with violent force. She’s dressed like a punk rocker, complete with beat up leather jacket and black Doc Marten’s. She looks like Baz. Same reddish-gold skin, sharp cheekbones, and black hair. Except she’s got a blonde streak at the front. And she dresses like she never left the seventies.

“Where have you been?!” She says. “Your classes ended like, 5 hours ago!”

Baz groans and rolls his eyes. “I picked up an extra shift at the Grind tonight. I told you so this morning, but apparently you weren’t paying attention.”

She frowns. Holy shit, it makes her look even more like him. “Well you could’ve at least called. Tasha told me to look after you when you moved here and-” She looks right at me, glaring suspiciously.  “Who are you?”

“I-I’m Simon Salisbury. Nice to meet you.” I offer my hand, but she just stares at that blankly too. Slowly, I drop it, looking at the sidewalk embarrassed.

“He’s my friend, Fiona. Don’t scare him.” My heart simultaneously soars and breaks at his words. I’m his friend. Just his friend. Shit...

I look up slightly. Fiona stops glaring and smirks. She crosses her arms over her Ramones shirt. “Well, you are cute.”

“Fiona!” Baz snaps. “Really?!” A little red spreads across his cheeks. Though it might be my imagination. Wishful thinking, right?

She shrugs. “Hey I’m just making an observation. By the way, we’re ordering pizza tonight. I forgot to make dinner.”

He groans. “Goddammit, not again.”

“Shut up, you made me worry. Now say bye to your...friend get the fuck upstairs. Or I’m getting the pizza with pineapples.” She starts to walk away towards the building.

“You wouldn’t!” Baz shouts after her.

She turns to flash a smile that certainly says, ‘I would,’ and enters the building again. Baz shakes his head and sighs.

“Sorry about that,” he grumbles. “My aunt likes to embarrass me for kicks. She’s the worst roommate ever, honestly. But she pays the rent, so I don’t have much choice”

“Oh it’s fine. My Mum is the same. I’d move out if I could,” I reply. “But, you should probably get up there before she orders pineapple pizza.”

“Very true. Night, Simon.” He waves, which isn’t as nice as that handshake, but I’ll take it. I wave back.

“Night, Baz.”

I walk away, smiling wider than I have in ages.

* * *

 

“What do you mean you can’t come in?!” I shout into the store phone. “C’mon Trixie, I can’t do this order all by myself, and my Mum isn’t back for another three hours! Yeah, I get that you have schoolwork, I do too, but-. Fine, whatever. But you’re gonna have to talk to my Mum later. Bye, bye!”

I slam the phone down. Goddammit, my life is a Hell. I groan and lean my elbows on the counter, holding my face in my hands. This is a nightmare.

The bell over the door rings. Someone walks towards me. I don’t have the energy to even look up.

“Well, what’s going on with you?”

My head snaps up so suddenly I nearly hit Baz’s chin. He stumbles back.

“Jesus, Simon! Be careful,” he shouts.

“S-Sorry, Baz. You just startled me.”

He frowns and comes forward again. “You alright? You seem stressed.”

I sigh heavily. “Yeah, I am. I’m supposed to make fifty arrangements with Trixie, our other employee, today. But Trixie just called to say she can’t come, and Mum is out making some deal with some garden catalogue, so I’m going to have to do them all on my own because God hates me.” I plant my forehead on the countertop. The solid coolness of it calms my nerves a bit.

“Well,” Baz says. “What if I help? Can’t be that complicated, right?”

I look up. He’s smiling softly, kindly. My pulse flutters. “Really? You don’t have to. It’s not going to be fun.”

“I’m sure you’ll make it enjoyable.”

God, I don’t want to make floral arrangements. I want to stare at his face forever. But we have work to do. I stand up straight. “Awesome. Let’s get started.”

* * *

 

It takes a few tries, but Baz and I get a good method going. The roses are already de-thorned, so Baz just needs to cut the stems so they’re even then hand them to me. He gets up to four at a time eventually. I take them and put them in the glass bowls.

“What is this order for, anyway?” Baz asks as he hands me another bunch.

“A wedding,” I reply. “Hence the yellow roses.”

“I don’t understand. Wouldn’t you want red roses for a wedding?”

I shrug a bit. “Yeah, some people would. Red roses mean love and desire. But yellow roses mean joy, friendship, and promise of new beginnings. Much more appropriate for a wedding, in my opinion.”

Baz makes a surprisingly intrigued “hm” sound. “Do all flowers have meanings?”

“Most of them, yeah. Daisies mean innocence and hope. Bluebell means humility. Sunflower means adoration. If you want to say something, there's almost certainly a flower for it.”

“Interesting,” Baz mumbles. “Do they teach you all this stuff in botany class?”

I scoff and grab another group of roses. “I wish. No, my Mum did. Back when we lived with my Dad in his stupid cabin in the middle of nowhere, she had a huge flower garden. She would get me to help her plant the flowers and tell me what they meant. Had this big book too. I knew flower meanings before I knew what a door was called.”

“Wow. You were really raised on this shit, huh?”

“Yup! Live and breathe flowers. Thank my Mum for that.”

“What are you thanking me for?”

We both look up to see my mother in the doorway, walking towards us. Her curly hair is piled on top of her head in glowing blonde mound. She’s dressed like a hippie like always, with her long layered skirt and worn sweater.

“Hey Mum,” I say happily. “Just talking about how my love for flowers is most certainly learned.”

“Definitely, no question. I indoctrinated you young.” She leans forward and kisses my forehead. My face heats up from embarrassment. God, does she have to do that in front of Baz? She turns to look at him.

“Hello. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Oh, sorry. Mum, this is Baz Grimm-Pitch. Baz, this is my mother, Lucy Salisbury.”

He reaches out to her. “Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Salisbury.”

She gladly shakes his hand. “Pleasure’s all mine, Baz. Especially since you’re helping with my business.”

“Well, your son was being so pathetic I just had to help.”

I scoff and knock his shoulder. “Arsehole. You offered!”

He knocks back, shoving back harder with his obviously greater strength. “Only because you looked like a kicked puppy.”

I stick my tongue out. He laughs beautifully. I think I could listen to that laugh for the rest of my goddamn life.

“Well you can go now if you like, Baz,” my Mum says. “Simon and I can finish up.”

My chest seizes for a second. Shit, Mum! Don’t do this! I expect Baz to get up and leave. But  he merely flashes a polite, kind grin.

“No, it’s fine. We’ve got a good rhythm here. You can rest and we’ll do it.”

Mum raises an eyebrow. She looks at me curiously, as if to ask ‘you okay with this?’ I nod vigorously. Her face shifts into a lopsided smile.

“Very well. If you two are doing so well, I’m happy to leave you to it. I’ve got soap operas to watch. Good to meet you, Baz.” She ruffles my hair (like I’m five years old). “And see you later, my rosebud boy.”

I roll my eyes as she walks out to go to our apartment above. Baz chuckles.

“So she really does call you that,” he says, sounding far too amused.

“Yes, all the time,” I grumble. “Even though I’m bloody 19.”

“Oh c’mon, it’s cute. It seems your adorableness is genetic.”

My cheeks heat up. I focus on the arrangement. “Uh, thanks.” I take a few seconds to build my confidence to speak again. Y’know I-I think you’re...pretty cool.”

“That’s very nice of you to say.”

I turn to look at him. He’s keeping a suspiciously calm poker face. Like there’s something hidden behind it. His eyes are a bit strained though. Does he...not believe me?

“Well, I only say it because it’s true,” I say softly.

He turns to me slowly. The poker face slips off bit by bit, eyes widening, perfect lips falling open. Though I can’t still figure out what he’s feeling. It’s a mix between wonder and anxiety, I think.

“Simon...” he whispers.

And I wait for him to say more. Seconds stretch into minutes into eternity. I try to will my limbs to do more than just hang uselessly. To reach out and touch him, or ask him the question that’d been on my mind for two weeks, ever since we met. But anxiety infects my every muscle and nerve. So I just sit there like a statue, as does Baz, with his complicated expression. Just listening to the cars speeding outside.

Baz turns back to his flowers and the moment abruptly ends. “We should finish this up. I’ve got work to do back home.”

“Y-Yeah,” I mutter. “Good plan.” We finish the rest of the arrangements without speaking. The silence weighs on me like a ton bricks.

Christ, I wish I wasn’t such a coward.

* * *

 

When we're done, I send Baz off with awkward mumbled goodbye which he reciprocates. I watch him walk away for too long. Then I close the shop and glumly walk up the stairs. It’s like there’s a cloud hanging over my head. Fuck, I had my chance and I missed it. Because I’m a total idiot.

I walk in the apartment door, still looking at my shoes.

“So, Baz huh?”

“Gah!” I jump back from my mother, standing literally four feet away from me. “Have you been waiting here for me like a creeper? Jeez, Mum.”

She puts her hands on her hips. “You’re avoiding the question, love. _So_ , Baz huh?”

I stare at her blankly. “That’s barely a question.”

“Ugh, do I need to spell it out for you? I thought I raised you smarter than this.”

“Hey! I-”

“Shut up, darling. Okay, to be more specific, are you and Baz together?”

I look at the floor again, kicking the carpet. “No,” I say quietly.

“But...I’m guessing you want to be.”

I start chewing at my nails, something I only do when I’m especially nervous. “...maybe.”

I feel my mother’s hand curl around mine, bringing it away from my mouth. She tilts my chin up to look at her. Those big blue eyes, even bluer than mine, instantly calm me down like always. She cups my cheek in her soft hand.

“Well, as someone who learned a lot from her horribly failed marriage, I say go for it. You obviously like him a lot. I can tell just by the way you look at him. And I think he likes you too.”

I scoff. “Yeah, right. What makes you think that?”

“Because, he looks at you the exact same way.” She pats my face once. “Don’t be an idiot, honey. Put yourself out there.”

With that, she walks away towards the kitchen. “Now should we have chicken fingers or frozen pizza for supper? It is junk food night.”

Is she right? Does Baz feel the same way? If so, why didn’t he do anything earlier? Well, I didn’t do anything either, but I was nervous. Baz wasn’t nervous. Baz gets frazzled and annoyed, but he’s too confident to be nervous. Right?

I sigh, and push my thoughts to the side for now. “Chicken fingers, please. And can we have cherry scones after?”

“Oh absolutely!” she says from behind the freezer door. “It’s not junk food night without cherry scones for dessert.”

I smile, and let myself not worry for awhile.

* * *

 

Okay, this is it. It only took a week and half since the yellow roses incident to muster up the courage, but I’m going to do it. I’m going to go in there, go straight up to Baz, and ask him on a proper date. Not me dropping in on his work place or vice versa. An actual, honest to god date.

I take a deep breath and walk in before I lose my nerve. I march towards the counters and-

My heart stops. But not in a good way.

Baz is leaning on the espresso machine. And he’s giggling. With Agatha. They’re smiling and laughing with their heads so close together their noses almost touch.

My stomach bottoms out. I’m frozen in place. No, this can’t be right. We’ve been hanging out, flirting even. He’s interested in me. He has to be! But...he didn’t ask me that day a week and half ago when he had the chance. Maybe this really has all been in my head.

Baz lifts his head to look at me and smiles. “Hey Simon! I-”

I turn and march out the door. How could I be such an idiot?! Of course he doesn’t like me. He was just messing with me for fun or something. In what world would such a cool, kind guy ever like me? Not this one obviously.

“Simon wait!” Baz calls, obviously chasing me. I don’t stop. “Simon, please just stop!”

I groan and finally stop walking. I turn on my heels. Baz’s brow is furrowed. “Where are you going, Simon?”

“Home,” I snap. “I assume you want some alone time with your _girlfriend_.” I spit the word out like venom.

Baz is obviously taken aback, stepping away slightly. His mouth jaw drops. Yeah, must be pretty shocked I figured it out. Bastard.

“Simon, wha...what are you talking about? Agatha and I-”

“Are together?! Yeah I guessed, considering you were an inch away from kissing. God, how could I have been so stupid? To think you’d ever be interested in someone like me. You-you were so nice, and you flirted with me and I thought you wanted- ugh. You’re,” I hold my forehead in my hand, “just like my Dad. He acted like he cared about me too, lied to me constantly. And you know how that ended.”

His face falls even more, and I almost feel bad. But my anger is too overwhelming.

“No, it’s not like that. I do like you-”

“As ‘just a friend’? Yeah I guessed. Like messing with people, hm? Or maybe I was just deluding myself. But I don’t want to be your friend. Fuck, I don’t want to be your anything anymore!”

“Simon, I-”

I hold up my hand. “Y’know what? I don’t want to hear it. Don’t come to the shop anymore, alright? I don’t want to see you. Ever again.”

With that, I turn and stomp away. I stomp all the way to shop, stomp up the stairs home, stomp past my mother, and finally collapse in bed. Only then, when my head hits the pillow, do I let the sadness wash over me. All the light hearted joy I’ve been feeling for weeks turns to misery. And I just...cry. I let myself cry over a stupid boy. How pathetic.

But my heart’s just been broken. I think I’m allowed to be a bit pathetic right now.

* * *

 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” My mother says, holding my face in her hands.

“Mum,” I groan, wiggling out of her grip. “I’m 19. I’m an adult, I can take care of myself.”

“I know, love. You’ve just been so upset lately. I can skip tea with Mitali and we can close the shop and just hang out.”

“No, go see Mitali. You’ve missed tea for two weeks. I’ll be fine.”

“Alright,” she sighs. “If you say so. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

“Of course.”

She leans forward and pecks my cheek. “I love you, my rosebud boy.”

I kiss her forehead in return. “Love you too, Mum. Now go, have fun.”

She rolls her eyes. “My teenage son is encouraging me to go out and have fun. I feel old.”

“Hate to break it to you, Mum, but you are old.”

“I’ve raised an arsehole son,” she mutters as she walks out the door.

“No shit, Mum!”

And with that, I’m alone. Alone in the shop, with the sound of the light storm out and my own thoughts. I bounce my red ball against the counter. Four days later and I’m still mulling over what happened with Baz. My stomach still aches, but with more sadness than anger now. For just a second, I thought it could actually be something. That he liked me and I liked him and we could be happy.

But that all fell apart, shattered in one moment. He tricked me. Messed with my head for kicks. I know what I saw!

...right?

I’ve been rerunning the scene in my head for days and I have to be right. Why else would they be like that? But...he said it wasn’t like that. And that he liked me. Maybe I should’ve let him explain. Maybe he still could...

Fuck, I’m weak.

I grab my rain slicker, flip the closed sign around on the door, and-

My heart stops. Again.

He’s standing right there, damp black hair hanging in his face, rain drops sliding down his grey trench. No glasses though (must have his contacts in). He’s holding a medium sized bouquet in his right hand. We stare at each other with wide eyes and slack jaws.

“Hi,” I finally say.

“Hello,” he replies. “I was just...I wanted to see you. And I’m sorry, I know you told me to stay away, but-”

“No! I...I was just going to see you too, actually.”

“Oh. Well, uh...”

The silence resumes. Baz sighs and runs a hand through his hair, slicking it back. He looks just like the day we met. He squares his shoulders and lets out a long breath.

“Tyrannus,” he says flatly.

I stare at him for an inordinately long time. “...what?”

“My full name. It’s Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch. I didn’t lie when I said it was stupid. And...” He takes a step forward. “I didn’t lie when I flirted with you.”

The anger bubbles up again. “Oh really? Then why were you so cozy with Agatha?”

“Because we’re old friends. The private school my mother runs? We both went to it. She was and still is one of my closest friends. And, she was the first person I came out to. As gay.”

My eyes go wider than humanly possible. I blink stupidly. His confession rattle around in my brain like a pinball machine. “Wait, what?”

He takes another step forward. “I’m _gay_ , Simon. Completely. I’ve known it since I was 15. I’ve never so much as looked at a girl romantically. You on the other hand, I have definitely looked at.” He sighs, running a hand through his damp hair again. “I guess I wasn’t obvious enough with how much I was looking.” He laughs it off, but I can hear the nervous twinge in his voice.

“No, no no. You definitely did. I’m just, very thick. Penny reminds me of it daily. I’m sorry I over reacted. It brought back all the shit with my Dad. And I was wrong and stupid and I’m just really sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he moves even closer so there’s only three feet between us. “I  apologize too. I’ve spent three weeks wanting to ask you out properly but chickening out every time. I thought if I dropped enough hints you would do it. This all could have been avoided if I wasn’t such a coward. So,” he holds the flowers out, “Simon Salisbury, will you go on a date with me?”

I look more closely at the bouquet. My breath hitches. There are three kinds of flowers in there, and I know what they all mean. Purple hyacinth, “asking forgiveness.” Bittersweet, “truth”.  And finally, lavender rose, “love at first sight.”

I tilt my head up to him, beaming so hard it hurts. “You remembered. About flower meanings.”

He smiles back. “Of course I remembered.” He bites his bottom lip. “So, do you have an answer?”

If I was a crueler person, I’d tease him, let him stew in uncertainty like I have been for weeks. But I’m not that cruel. Plus, I’ve been wanting to ask him out for ages, and now I have permission. Who wouldn’t take that? And really, he looks too fucking adorable to deny.

I take the bouquet from him, holding it at my side. I take his hand with my free one, purposefully lacing our fingers together. “Yes, I would like that a lot.”

Baz lets out a long breath, all the tension seeping out of his body. “Amazing. That’s certainly a weight off my shoulders”

“Mine too,” I giggle. “C’mon, let’s go somewhere that isn’t a coffee or flower shop.”

“ _Please_. I think we’ve had our fill of both.”

I laugh and let my head fall against his shoulder. He rests his cheek on my hair. Though it’s very inconvenient, we stay like that. Any space between us feels like too much. After three weeks of worrying and dancing around it, there’s no way I’m ever letting him go ever again.

A certain flower pops into my brain. I think I’ll give it to him when we get back to the store.

Red salvia, “forever mine”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Baz with glasses and a man bun is my aesthetic and that is the sole reason it's in this fic. Also Baz's mum is Natasha not Daphne. I just needed Baz to have siblings in this fic and I think she and Malcolm would have more kids if she had lived. So I hope you liked this flower/coffee shop AU. Tomorrow, song inspired!  
> PS: [This](http://www.podestabaldocchi.com/scripts/prodView.asp?idproduct=636) is the arrangement I based Baz's one on.


	7. Song Inspired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fireplace kiss from Baz's perspective. Inspired by "Touch" by Troye Sivan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to NewYearsEveBaby02 for the song suggestion and never ending encouragement. Love you bestie <3

**Baz**

I pick up the poker and jab at the fire. “One kiss, and you think the world is upside down.”

“Two kisses.”

And he takes me by the back of the neck.

Earlier in the forest, I thought (or hoped) the whole “brain shutting off under Simon Snow's mouth” was mostly adrenaline, from the possibility of dying. But I think this disproves that. Because we're in my room with no imminent threat to my life, and my thought processes have ceased to exist. Just a jumble of feelings and sensation. The fact that this boy's lips make my mental abilities shatter is both infuriating and wonderful at the same time.

I'm frozen everywhere, including my mouth. Snow’s winter chapped lips are just firmly pressed against mine. I’m still holding the fire poker in one hand, clutching it so hard my knuckles have gone white. Every nerve in my body feels alive, and that’s quite the achievement, considering I’m half dead.

Simon starts moving against me. I copy him, letting his mouth meld into mine. He tastes like shepherd’s pie and smoke. His hand crawls up my neck to grab at my hair. The strands slip between his fingers, and when he tugs on them a bit, the smallest moan pour out of my throat.

Everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion. None of the furious, messy urgency from before. Just the slow, easy way our lips slide together. But one thing keeps bothering me. It’s still rattling in the back of my throat.

I move my hand up Snow’s chest, getting slightly distracted by tracing the curve of his muscles for a second. But I still push him back so our mouths disconnect. I take a second to let my thoughts return to coherence

“Your cross,” I whisper.

“Oh,” he replies, equally breathless. “I-I’ll deal with it.”

Snow gets up, legs wobbling slightly like a unstable fawn. He puts the infernal necklace on the other side of the room. On his way back, he turns off the red lamp, making our fire the only light in the room. Like our own personal dimming sun.

He kneels next to me again, facing me this time. I turn to face him in return. Our eyes are locked. But surprisingly Simon doesn’t grab my neck again. Doesn't say anything either. The silence is thick like fog around us. He just sits there, looking at me nervously, chewing on his bottom lip. As if he's waiting for something to happen. Or, for me to do something. Is...he waiting for me to kiss him?

It dawns on me he’s been the instigator two out of three kisses so far, and I’ve always ended them. From the wide, worried look in his eyes, I think he wants me to move forward instead. For me to make the choice, to makes sure I really do want this. The thought of that, how caring Snow is being towards me, makes my heart beat faster.

I’m used to this. Feeling the love and desire I have for him bubble up from where I usually shove it deep down. But for the first time in my pathetic gay vampire life, I let myself feel those things for Simon Snow without the usual guilt. Let myself _want._ Want his caring, his affection, his mouth against mine. Even if things change tomorrow, be it reality kicks our arses or he just changes his mind, I'm allowed to have this right now. Simon wanting me, and I wanting him in return.

I slowly put down the poker and reach out and to hold his neck, just like he did mine. I lightly trace the fine hair on his nape. He inhales sharply, eyes fluttering shut. I pull him towards me and we meet halfway.

It’s still beautifully slow and languid. I feel his smooth curls against my touch. My bones go soft from lazy heat, and it becomes an effort to just sit upright. I start to lean back, and Snow follows. His legs bracket my thighs, hands on either side of my face. My other hand slides across his lower back over and over again. His warmth pulses through my veins.

We break away slightly to breathe. The firelight to dances in his bronze curls, making them glow gold. He looks like a dream above me, mouth open, desire clouded blue eyes boring into mine. I swipe my thumb under the curl of his lips, staring at him for a long second.

I reach up for his mouth, and I would again and again. I'm in love with him, I want to touch him, and for once, I let myself want what I thought I could never have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow: catching a cold!


	8. Catching a Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon gets a terrible, destrutive cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow another long one. Not as long as flowers, but still pretty long. Hope you enjoy it :)

**Simon**

I wake up feeling like my head is filled with cotton and my nose is on fire. Clear snot drips out of onto the pillow below. It even hurts to breathe.

“Shit,” I mutter. My voice is high pitch and clogged. I cough and green mucus comes out. Crowley, of all the things that could get me, and it’s fucking a cold.

And like my day couldn’t get any worse, Baz walks out of the bathroom, looking impeccable as always. He looks at me with a disgusted frown.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He says.

“I have a cold,” I say.

“Obviously. You sound horrible.”

“Fuck off.” I wish I could sound more intimidating but my voice makes that impossible.

Baz chuckles. “That barely works when you’re healthy, Snow. Nice try.”

“Hey you-” A tickling in my nose makes me stop. I feel the sneeze building bit by bit. But something else builds too. Like a charge in the pit of stomach. It’s too late when I realise what it is.

“ACHOO!” The air explodes around me. Streaks of lightning shoot out in every direction. Baz ducks for cover, hands braced on his head. Once my vision clears, I look around. The walls are singed and there’s electricity still swirling around my head.

“Aleister fucking Crowley, Snow!” Baz shouts as he stands back. “What the fuck was that?!”

“Um, I think my magic is, uh...reacting to the cold.”

Baz groans and shakes his head. “As if you weren’t destructive enough already.”

“Hey! It’s not my fault! I-” Oh no, the tickling starts again. Baz’s eyes go wide with fear.

“Shit,” he hisses. “Snow, press your tongue behind your top two teeth.”

“Wha-”

“Just do it!”

I press the tip of my tongue there as hard I can. I feel like an idiot. But then, the tickle start to fades and eventually goes away completely. Once fully gone, I let out a sigh, as does Baz. I wipe the snot away and turn to him.

“Now what was _that_?” I ask.

“My little sister has very severe allergies in the spring. My step-mother uses that trick to stop her sneezing fits. Luckily it works on large children as well as small ones.”

I glare as best I can with bloodshot eyes. Baz is certainly not intimidated though. I stand up out of bed, but the entire world suddenly decides to tilt sideways. Everything is topsy turvy. I stumble forward, about to fall on my face, until two strong hands grip my shoulders to steady me.

“Whoa whoa, don’t stand up.” Baz’s voice is surprisingly soft. There’s barely an edge to it. “Get back on the bed.”

I sit on the mattress, my head hanging down. Everything is still spinning. I try to focus on the floor for some semblance of stability.

“I’m going to try a spell,” he says, still soft. “ **Get well soon**!”

His magic hits me like a heatwave and wraps around my body like a warm blanket. But the warmth slides off me, pooling at my feet.

“Hmph. Why isn’t it working?”

“My body knows I hate you,” I chuckle. “Doesn’t want your help.”

Baz growls. “Or maybe your magic agitating cold is spell proof. You’re going to have to get over it the old fashioned way, I guess .”

I groan. “I have a project to hand in though.”

“I’ll do that,” Baz replies. “Just get back in bed, you idiot.”

“But-”

“No buts. Lie down, now.”

With one last annoyed humph, I do as he says. The usually annoyingly lumpy pillow feels like a goddamn cloud now. I sigh and snuggle into it. Baz carefully pulls the blanket up to my shoulders. I open my eyes, but my vision is too blurry to see his face clearly. I wonder what he looks like, how he’s looking at me. I frown.

“Why are you doing this? You could kill me right now, easily”

“Because you’re utterly helpless right now. And despite your deluded opinion of me, I’m not a complete monster. I won’t kick a man when he’s down. Plus the sooner you get better, the sooner I won’t have to worry about being hit by a stray lightning bolt.”

I huff, closing my eyes. “Right. Don’t want to be a pile of ash.”

He scoffs. “Go to sleep, Snow.” With that, I hear him walk away. Once the door is closed, I let myself relax. I bury my face into the pillow and drift away into sleep.

* * *

 

“Snow? Snow? Simon, wake up.”

I blink open my gummy eyes. There’s little sunlight coming in through the window. Crowley, I must’ve slept the whole day away. Baz is leaning over me. And I swear he almost looks concerned. Probably just afraid I’ll fry him with my literally explosive sneeze.

“You just called me Simon,” I mumble.

“No, I didn’t. You’re sick and obviously hallucinating.”

Baz is holding stuff in his hands. A stack of papers in one, and a large ceramic bowl in the other. I squint at the bowl.

“What’s that?”

He holds up the paper. “Your homework. Of course it will only be of use if you decide to do it.”

I shake my head. “Not that, arsehole. The bowl.”

Baz places the papers on his side table and lowers the bowl towards my face. The smell of salty broth wafts its way into my stuffed nose.

“Soup,” Baz says. “Compliments of Cook Pritchard. I told her how utterly pathetic you were, plus how imperative it is you get better before burning the whole school to the ground. So she made you soup. Now sit up and drink it.”

With immense effort, I sit up on my bed. The room isn’t spinning as much as before, so that’s a good sign. Baz carefully places the soup in my lap and puts a spoon in my hand. I swear his fingers linger on mine, but it’s so brief I must be hallucinating more. I take a cautious sip. It tastes great. I hum in approval.

“Good?” Baz asks.

“Very,” I reply, taking another sip. The warmth it clears my aching head slightly, enough to let a sudden thought to smash in. I inhale sharply, which causes another coughing fit, and a curious look from Baz.

“You alright, Snow?”

“Oh Crowley,” I rasp out. “Did you tell Penny I’m here? She’s probably going to freak out.”

Baz rolls his eyes. “Of course. Bunce ambushed me after class, demanding I tell her where you are or she’d smite me where I stood. I told her, she didn’t believe me, then I told her again and swore on my mother’s grave, and then she was convinced.”

I sigh. “Oh thank Merlin. Is she coming up here? I’m guessing she wants to come up here.”

“She wanted to. But I told her we should keep you in quarantine for now in case anyone else could get the more violent symptoms.”

“You’re not worried about getting sick yourself?”

“I don’t get sick.”

I nod slowly. “Right. Because you’re a vampire.”

Baz glares, seemingly trying to murder me with just his gaze. “ _Because_ , I have a good immune system. Now drink the rest of that soup. It will keep you hydrated and give you nutrients.”

With an annoyed huff, I keep drinking it. I’ll admit, it does make me feel better. Soon I look back up at Baz, still sitting on his bed facing me. “How are you so good at this?”

“I have four younger siblings, Snow. If one of them gets sick, they all get sick. And since I never do, I help my parents.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to help me.”

He makes a “pfft” noise, blowing a strand of hair out of his face. “Magically destructive illness means automatic truce in my book. And I told you, I’m not a complete monster.”

He doesn’t say anything else. Just keeps sitting there, silent, frowning slightly (but his face always looks like that). He doesn’t elaborate, leaving that statement hanging in the air. And honestly, I’m not sure if he’s trying to convince me or himself with it.

“Alright,” I finally say. “Truce. Until I’m not at risk of blowing you up.”

He nods once curtly. “Good. Glad that’s settled, Snow.”

I slurp down the last of the soup. (It’s _really_ good.) Baz makes a disgusted noise at my manners. But he still takes the empty soup bowl from me and puts it on my desk. I lie back down.

“Now,” I say. “What did I miss in class?”

Baz raises an eyebrow. “You really care?”

I shrug. “I need something to sleep off my cold. Schoolwork is boring enough to send me right back to dreamland.”

“You really plan to sleep through your entire illness?”

“It’s only a cold. Should be gone in a day or two.”

* * *

 

“Achoo!”

Boom! A lightning bolt assaults the opposite wall and the black mark gets bigger. Five days. I’ve been sick for five fucking days and the only good thing is that I've figured out how to make my electric sneezes focused in one area. Now it just shoots out in front of me. Still makes Baz flinch though, understandably. He does so just as another sneeze bolt lets loose.

“Aleister Crowley, Snow,” he says from his bed. “Are you getting any better?”

“Obviously not,” I grumble, blowing my nose again.

“This is so weird. If this is a normal cold, then why won’t it go away?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

I flop down on the bed and groan. This is a nightmare. Penelope is pretty sure I have some unknown magical plague. She’s researching every minute outside of class. Agatha convinced Baz to bring me scones along with the daily soup. The Mage would care if he was bloody well around.

Baz has been surprisingly understanding. He brings the aforementioned soup and scones everyday, tells me what I missed in class, and even wrote out an assignment for me I dictated to him. Merlin, he even edited it for me. I really wonder, is this Baz pretending to be a nice person? Or is this how he actually acts but just treats me like crap? Am I the exception or the rule?

Either way, I think I like...this. This weird illness inducing truce. I definitely like it better than fighting.

“I feel like death,” I whine.

“You’re not dying, Snow,” Baz replies.

“How do you know, Mr. Smartypants?”

“Because _I’m_ supposed to kill you. And the universe is not kind enough to let you die of a cold before I can do so.”

I roll onto my side so I can see him better. He’s reading his book with a completely blank expression. No indication he’s bothered by what he just said. It bothers me though. Usually I wouldn’t say anything, just accept it and move on. Maybe it’s my cold messing with my head, but I can’t let it go.

“You really think that?” I mumble. “That we’re going to kill each other?”

Baz flicks his eyes over to me. “Don’t you?”

I shrug. “I know I’m supposed to. It’s what everyone says. But I don’t know.” I look down at my bedsheet, tracing circles in the fabric. “I...I don’t think I'd want to now. You’ve been so nice to me through all of this. Why would I kill someone who’s being so nice to me?”

He scoffs. “Because I’m a Pitch and you’re the Mage’s heir. We’re doomed to die by each other’s hand. If the Humdrum doesn’t get you first.”

“Stop talking like your father and talk like yourself,” I snap.

He doesn't say anything for too long. I slowly lift up my head. Baz is looking at me, and it’s not with disgust, or contempt, or even blank resignation. In fact, he looks almost...pained. His eyes are round and open, his lips pressed together in a thin line. He’s got a death grip on his book so hard his knuckles are ghost white. It’s like he wants to say something but he can’t get it out. The anxious ache in my stomach grows with every passing second.

“Simon-”

Then I sneeze.

It comes out of nowhere. The bolt sails towards Baz’s head. He yelps and ducks down just in time. When he looks back up, it’s with the familiar expression of contempt.

“Fucking Merlin and Morgana, Snow!” He roars. “You nearly killed me!”

“I’m sorry!” I shout back.

“I don’t fucking care how sorry you are! If I’m going to die it will not be by your idiotic cold!”

“It was an accident.”

“Like hell it was,” he snarls. “Thought you could lull me into a false sense of security then get me, huh? Nice try, Chosen One.”

I gape at him. Does he really think I’d do that? That I’m capable of something so manipulative? “N-No of course not. I-I- How could you- I would-”

“Shut the fuck up you stupid stuttering numpty.”

He pushes himself off the bed and stomps to the door.

“W-Where are you going?”

“Out,” he mutters. “Away from you.”

With that, he walks out and slams the door closed with enough force to shake the room. I’m left there, frozen, in too much shock to move. What the hell just happened? It was an accident, I know it was. But my stupid words wouldn’t work like usual. And now he’s gone. There’s nothing I can do.

Slowly, I lay back down on my bed and stare out the window. I don’t cry. I just let myself wallow in self pity. Mentally hitting myself for doing that. Fuck, we were getting somewhere, and I messed it up. Messed it up like I always mess up everything.

I really am the worst chosen one that’s ever been chosen.

* * *

 

Baz hasn’t spoken to me in two days. Fuck, he hasn’t even so much as looked at me. No more homework help or soup. (Penny’s been bringing food instead.) It’s all just unbelievably tense silence. He stays out of the room too, goes out at night for longer that he ever has before. Like right now.

I’m on my back, staring at the ceiling. I’m surrounded by snotty tissues. I can’t sleep. That stupid day is still mulling around in my head all this time. It was an accident. I know it was...right? I didn’t mean to. The sneeze just came out of nowhere, no warning. I didn’t want to hurt Baz. It’s just this stupid cold.

What if it was subconscious? What if deep down I did? Oh god, am I really that much of a monster inside? I can’t be, I can’t be, I can’t-

I can’t breathe.

I bolt up and put a hand to my chest. It’s like there’s an elephant on my lungs. The whole world is spinning. The horrible thoughts keep bashing into me over and over again. _You’re evil, you’re a monster, you tried to kill him after all he did to help you_. It’s like the world’s worst time loop. Every inhale is a struggle. My magic reacts with me, pushing to the surface, making my skin simmer and glow. Fuck, I think I’m about to go off.

“Snow? Simon!”

Baz’s voice is distant to me. I faintly hear him run to my bed. He crashes onto the mattress, eyes wild with fear.

“Baz,” I choke out. “Can’t- Can’t breathe.”

“Oh my god, oh my god,” he mutters. “Is it your cold?”

“N-No. Head. T-Thinking- Won’t stop.”

Baz’s fear fades slightly. He looks more determined than anything. Suddenly, he takes my head between his hands, looking me right in the eye. (I think he does, it’s all too spinny.)

“Simon,” he says firmly. “You’re having a panic attack, okay? I need you to try to calm down and control your breathing.”

I try to wrangle in my mind but it won’t listen. The thoughts slip out of my grasp every time. My body keeps heating up. I shake my head violently.

“C-Can’t.’

“Shit,” he hisses. After a second, he grabs my wrists presses both my hands to his cool chest. “Simon, I want you to feel me breathe and try to sync up with it, okay?”

I nod vigorously.

“Alright. Listen to my voice, feel my lungs. In,” he inhales, “1,2,3. Out,” he exhales, “1,2,3.”

I focus on the feeling under my palms. It’s the only constant, grounding thing I can detect at the moment. In, 1,2,3, out, 1,2,3. Baz does it over and over again, keeping his grip on my wrists tight. Before I know it, I’m breathing just like him, my magic isn’t about explode, and the world isn’t spinning anymore.

I can finally see Baz’s face clearly. I’ve never seen him so scared, eyes wide and brows near his hairline. He hasn’t let go of me. But...I really don’t want him to, actually. His touch keeps me steady. It reminds me of the real world. That I didn't really kill him.

“You okay?” He says softly. I nod, and he sighs, the fear sliding off his face. “Thank Merlin.”

The exhaustion washes over me. This whole experience has completely drained me. I can’t help but yawn.

“Go to bed, Snow.” Baz starts to let go of my wrists. I inhale sharply. No, he can’t leave now. The second lets go I feel untethered, weightless, like I could drown in my own mind again.

“No,” I say, grabbing Baz’s hands tightly. He looks at me curiously. “Don’t go.”

“Snow, wha-”

“You’re, you’re keeping me grounded. Just stay. Please.”

Baz looks at me for what feels like eternity. His lips hang open. I watch his eyes for a sign of choice. He’s probably going to shove me away. Call me an idiot or something. The last thing I expect is for him to sigh and nod slowly.

“Alright,” he whispers. “Just face the other way in case of a sneeze.”

I nod back. “Okay.”

I lay down on my side, facing the window. I brush the snotty tissues onto the floor, giving me a better view of the twinkling stars. After hearing the sound of Baz kicking off his shoes, I feel the mattress shift as he lays down next to me. We’re still holding each other's hand. I refuse to let go. But it’s more awkward now, my arm bent behind me. It’s definitely preventing me from falling asleep.

Fuck it. I grunt and pull our hands in front of myself, putting Baz’s arm across my waist. He lurches forward as a result, inhaling sharply. His chest is maybe a millimeter from touching my back. Our bodies are practically lined up.

“Snow, what are you-”

“Can’t sleep if my arm twisted,” I mutter. “Neither can you.”

He humphs annoyedly, but doesn’t move. Our fingers are weaved together, resting in front of my stomach. I can feel his breath hit the back of my neck, sending a warm shiver down my spine. Usually, Baz’s constant presence makes me tense, like I’m walking on eggshells or a minefield. But now, it’s the exact opposite. I don’t feel panicked or drowning as long as I can hear him breathing and feel his skin on mine. Clinging to his hand, it’s like clinging to a life raft.

“Goodnight, Baz.”

“Night...Simon.”

I squeeze his palm once, just lightly. And I swear he squeezes back.

* * *

 

I wake up just before dawn. Orange light is dancing on the horizon outside the window. There’s a weight across my side. And something warm on my back. Something warm and breathing.

Oh. Right.

Baz has moved closer in his sleep, (though he didn’t have to move that much in the first place.) His nose is nudged into my neck, his chest pressed against my spine. Our legs are tangled together. We’re still holding hands too, together arms across my side, fingers interlocked.

Basilton Grimm-Pitch is sleeping next to me. Curled up next to me. And it feels...really nice. I like him like this. Under my thumb, under my hand. Not off plotting or hurting others or hurting himself. Part of me wants to never let him move from here ever again.

I let go of his hand and slowly turn to face him. He’s breathing evenly, lips slightly open (and he calls me a mouth breather.) He looks so relaxed, and kind of, pretty. His hair is all mussed, raven strands hanging in his face. The dawn light makes his pale skin practically glow. Maybe I never will let him get up. Maybe I’ll just keep looking at him for eternity.

His eyes blink open. And slowly, they focus on me. He looks very shocked for a second, but then he relaxes as the memory of last night returns. Though his eyes still look a bit scared.

“You’re still here,” I whisper. “You stayed all night.”

“You begged me to stay,” he replies, voice equally low.

“But you didn’t have to.”

He shrugs, something he rarely does. “I’m allowed to be nice sometimes.”

“You keep saying that. Maybe...you’re just a nice person.”

“Am not.” His nose curls up in disgust. “Stop trying to ruin my reputation, Snow.”

“Actually, I really think you are.” I trace a finger down his jaw and his breath hitches. “You’re a nice person, Baz. A good person.”

I run my finger up and down, and his eyes flutter shut. He lets out a shuddering sigh. I feel his hand clench behind me. His face pulls in, like he’s in pain. No, I don’t want him to be hurting. So I move my hand upward and rub his forehead with my thumb. Trying to erase his tense lines with my touch. Slowly, his grip loosens, the lines fade, and his eyes open, just halfway.

“Simon...” he sighs.

Then I kiss him.

I don’t exactly know why. The impulse enters my mind and suddenly my lips are pressed against his. A still, chaste kiss. Baz inhales sharply, head pulling back slightly. For a second I think he’s going to push me off. That I’ve made an enormously stupid mistake and now Baz is going to fry me alive for it.

But then he pushes back. He grabs my shirt at the small of my back and hauls me even closer to him. It’s like there’s a fire burning between us. Growing bigger with every way mouths move, slotting together like that’s all they're meant to do. Baz’s hand presses hard into my lower back, like he’s making sure I’m really here.

I wonder how long he’s wanted this. I wonder how long _I’ve_ wanted this. I’d say I didn’t, but then why is there this list in my head of all the things I’ve always wanted to do to Baz? Like this.

I push my hand into Baz’s hair. It’s smooth and slips through my fingers, just like I always thought it would. I clench my fist and shove his face into mine. Suddenly, he breaks off.

“Sorry,” I say (I’m out of breath, it’s embarrassing.)

“No, it’s... How’s your cold? Do you still feel sick?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Worried about catching? I thought you didn’t get sick.”

“I don’t. But a lightning sneeze could turn me into a pile of ash.

Oh right. I’ve completely forgot about my cold until now. I take a breath through my nose, and though it's not exactly clear, it's better than before. My throat isn’t as scratchy either. I smile, earning a confused look from Baz.

“Actually,” I say, “I’m feeling a lot better. I think you might be curing me.”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous, Snow.”

“You called me Simon before.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“ _Baz_.” I cup his cheek. The annoyance drains from his face with a single sigh. Crowley, who knew one touch could make him relax like this? He puts his hand over mine, long fingers around me.

“Simon,” he says softly. “What are you doing?”

“Holding your face, obviously.”

“No. I mean, what is _this_?” He gestures between us. “Is this just an impulsive illness induced decision? Or...something else?”

I chew on my bottom lip, and sigh. “Well, I’m usually unsure of most things. But, I’m sure that I like this. I like you. I like you being nice to me, I like being nice to you. I like knowing you’re okay. These past few days, when I thought I almost killed you, I thought I was going to lose my mind. Fuck, I had a bloody panic attack over it. And I’m so sorry for that, I really am. I just, I know I like this better than fighting.” I bend my head down, too scared to look him in the eye. “Do...do you?”

Baz lets go of my hand, and for a second I think he’s going to push me away. Tell me that he hates me, that he hopes I rot in hell after putting me there. But then he grabs my chin and tilts my head back up to face him. His mouth is stern, determined, but his grey eyes are soft. Softer than I’ve ever seen them before. He traces his index slowly up my jawline. When his fingers tangle in my hair, it sends a shudder down my spine.

“Yes,” he breathes. “I do. Of course I do. Crowley, I've always wanted this.”

I’m taken aback by that, eyes widening. “Really?”

“Yes. Almost since we met.”

My breath hitches. His utter candor hits me right in the heart. For once, there’s nothing guarded about his face. He’s not hiding behind a bored expression anymore. He’s letting himself be vulnerable to me. And I like it. I don’t want him to hide from me anymore.

I grab the back of Baz’s neck and tap my forehead against his. He takes a deep breath, his eyes fluttering shut. Dragging his hand down my spine, he settles his palm against the small of my back.

“Then let's have this, Baz,” I whisper.

"Simon," he sighs. "I do want this, I really do. But there’s still a lot of stuff in our way. You have to know that.”

“Of course I know. But...we can do it, right? We can figure it all out. If we can get through this shitty destructive cold, we can get through anything.”

Baz chuckles, shaking his head against mine. “I think an impending civil war and a super villain are a bit more difficult.”

I shrug. “Yeah, I guess. But we’ll have each others backs. We can beat it together. And for now, let’s just...” I sigh, letting my eyes fall shut. “Let’s worry about all that later, alright? I don’t want to think about tomorrow. I want it to be just us for now.”

He smiles softly, eyes opening just a bit. He pushes us closer together. I bury my face in his neck, and he pushes his nose into my hair.

“Yes. Let’s, just be us right now.”

“Good.”

So we just lay there, holding each other, letting the world happen around us while we stay still. Because while we’re here, we’re not the Chosen One and the Pitch heir. We’re just two boys who care about each other with all the time in the world.

I've hated being in this bed the past week. But now I never want leave it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah it got super sappy at the end, I know. I'm a sap king/queen. Next up: side characters!


	9. Side Characters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The teachers see something completely unbelievable at the Leaver's Ball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love outsider POV and this felt like the perfect opportunity. So here you go!

“And I think next year’s curriculum would be greatly improved by-”

“Aleister fucking Crowley.”

Coach Mac’s hushed exclamation of awe silences the Minotaur. Both he and Miss Possibelf turn to look where he’s looking. Their jaws fall open too.

“Is that...” Miss Possibelf’s voice trails off.

The Minotaur nods slowly. “I think it is.”

They watch with their glasses stalled at their lips as Simon Snow and Baz Pitch dance together. Pitch has his arm around Snow’s back, with Snow’s hand on his shoulder, and their other hands joined. They're not fighting or screaming at each other like they have for years. Just swaying together, talking too quietly for anyone to hear.

“Impossible,” The Minotaur says with utter disbelief. “Are those two...together? As in, a couple?”

“They just might be,” Miss Possibelf says, trying to not to sound too shocked.

“But, they absolutely hate each other. Mr. Snow spent all of my class seemingly trying to kill Mr. Pitch with just his eyes.”

“As in mine. On top of actually trying to kill each other with magic occasionally.”

“No,” Coach Mac interjects calmly. “I think it actually make sense.”

The other two teachers look at him very curiously.

“What in Merlin’s name are you talking about, Mac?” Miss Possibelf says, eyes narrowed in confusion.

“Mr. Snow came to every single one of the team football practices for years. Every day, he was in the stands, watching Baz. Why would you be around someone you hate if you don’t have to?”

“Because he was following Pitch like a mad dog,” the Minotaur mutters.

“Not after fifth year, actually,” Miss Possibelf says. “I remember. I asked Simon why he was falling asleep in my class so much that year. He told me about following Mr. Pitch around at night. But eventually he stopped falling asleep.”

Coach Mac nods. “Exactly my point. But he kept coming to the football practices. Maybe he actually liked to watch Baz play.”

They all turn to look at their former students again. Basilton is saying something to Simon, his arm a steel band across his back. Simon’s face is scrunched up in defiant anger. They all expect him to bash his head against Basilton’s or something equally violent. But out of nowhere, he shoves his face in Basilton’s and kisses him. All the teachers look away with red cheeks.

“Well that certainly confirms it,” Miss Possibelf whispers, smile playing on her lips.

“Agreed,” the two men say, trying to hide their embarrassment behind their punch glasses.

 _Simon Snow and Baz Pitch_ , Miss Possibelf thinks. _What a wonderfully odd combination._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the time between first dancing and the kiss seems a bit screwy. It just works better for the story. Anyway, hope you enjoyed this. Unfortunately, I'm skipping the "domestic day" prompt tomorrow, because I've done lots of domestic stuff on my own already and I really need to manage my time between doing this and school well. So I'll be back on December 8th with "Disney/fairytale retelling" :D


	10. Disney/Fairytale retelling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Listen all. Hear the tale of Simon, The Sleeping Prince.

O do gather around, all you folks of many lands. Come hear the tale of Simon, the Sleeping Prince.

Long ago there was fair land called Watford, filled with beautiful and dangerous magic alike. Watford was ruled by King David, a revolutionary but domineering monarch, who overthrew the old traditionalist Pitch family in a bloody coup. His beloved ran away from him ages ago, leaving him with no Queen to rule with and no heir to take the throne after. So he took in a kindly orphan known as Simon Snow, a powerful wizard just like him.

But there were those who feared the power of Simon Snow. On the day Simon was named heir to Watford, a booming voice rang from the heavens. It declared that King David had committed crimes against many, and though he could not be harmed himself, his new heir would suffer instead. Simon was cursed, told that on his 19th birthday, he would prick his finger on a spinning wheel, and fall into sleep like death. Only way to be awaken by true love’s kiss.

The kingdom fell into a panic. The court knew not what to do. As suddenly as they had acquired a prince he had been snatched away. They suspected the Pitches had created the curse but there was no way to prove it. King David declared that this curse meant he needed more control, more taxes from the lords. And they complied, despite the complaints of people like Lord Grimm, widower of Late Queen Natasha Pitch. But their voices were small and few. Spinning wheels were banned from Watford, and all dissenters had a watchful eye kept on them.

But despite the curse hanging over his head, Prince Simon thrived. He was as strong as his guardian but much more kind. He used a sword with great skill but only to against Watford’s enemies. His magic could wipe out forests but he used it to help others instead. He beloved by all in the kingdom. Well, almost all, that is.

His main opposition came from late Queen Natasha’s only son, Basilton, who exceeded Simon in skill but was cold where Simon was warm. The boys fought throughout school, from battling in duels when commanded to simple confrontations in the corridors. People said the air simmered and thunder boomed between them when they fought. Like the world itself reacted to their furious tension.

Simon and Basilton were both knighted at 18, some of the youngest knights in the kingdom. Despite their schoolboy hatred, they worked together against Watford’s enemies. Both were noble enough to put aside petty feuds. They fought the vicious vampires, obliterated rival armies, and even slayed a terrifying dragon. If they put differences aside, together they were an unstoppable force, earning praise throughout their kingdom for their valour.

But just when the world felt so grand, everything came crashing down. The curse, nearly forgotten by all, came true. On his 19th birthday, King David alerted all that Prince Simon had pricked his finger and fallen into a never ending sleep. He was kept away from all in the castle’s tallest tower. The kingdom fell into crisis. The court was in disarray. But no one was more furious than Sir Basilton himself. He was beyond enraged that his partner was cursed.

The lovely lady Agatha Wellbelove, long assumed future wife of the Prince, tried to lift the curse, but failed. The King declared the curse was truly too strong to be broken. And the Prince would not wake up indefinitely. But Sir Basilton boldly announced he would not back down from the challenge. That with all his magical skill he could lift the curse when no else could. King David objected, but the court overruled him. They wanted their Prince back and were willing to try anything.

Basilton ascended the tower and the kingdom held its breath. That day a pin could be dropped and everyone would hear. But many minutes later Sir Basilton emerged from the tower, with an awakened Prince Simon following close behind.

The people erupted into cheers. The Prince revealed to all there was no curse. That the King himself had cast the spell to retain his hold on power. He even faked the terrifying voice on Simon’s coronation day to sow panic. But Sir Basilton’s superior magic had undone the spell. No kiss of true love was even needed. The people cared not how their Prince was saved though, just that he was awake.

King David was deposed by the court and left to rot for his treachery. And Prince Simon, the sleeping boy, was crowned the new ruler. For his grand bravery, Sir Basilton was made King’s Champion. There were celebrations for days.

King Simon ruled justly and fairly, the way everyone knew he would. And strangely, like his adopted father, he never took a queen. Though it was said in jest by many court members that Sir Basilton was truly King Simon's queen, for he never left his King's side. He would escort him everywhere, even around the castle itself. They were enemies in youth but inseparable for the rest of their days.

Since he never had children of his own, the King adopted an orphan like himself, but out of kindness rather than hope for control like David. He took in an infant girl he named Natasha, in honour of the late Pitch Queen. Despite her gender, she was treated no different than a crown prince. She was trained in magic, knighthood, and kingdom affairs by both the King and the Champion.

After a long reign, King Simon went how all Kings must go. When he could longer move, Sir Basilton refused to leave his bedside until the end. Upon Simon Snow’s death, Watford mourned for days upon days for their beloved monarch. But no one was more forlorn than Sir Basilton. He locked himself away and quickly fell ill. Like he stayed for her father, Princess Natasha stayed for his Champion. Only when Basilton passed himself did she emerge.

The Princess ascended to her throne. And her first declaration was simple and clear: That King Simon be buried with the person who had known him for most of his life, who awakened him from slumber, who never left his side. That the King, now truly asleep forevermore, rest with his beloved Champion.

So that is the legend of the sleeping prince. A story of triumph and power, of loyalty and strength. Remember it’s moral: to never give up on those you care for. To fight for them, even when others say it’s impossible.

And thus, our tale is done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope that wasn't too awful. I really wanted to do another outsider POV and this worked with it. I liked writing the "no true love's kiss was needed" cause I imagine Simon announcing that with very red cheeks. Anyway, next up: Pet/animals!


	11. Pets/Animals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz is dragging Simon somewhere. If it's good or bad is yet to be seen.

**Simon**

“Baaaaaz!” I whine. “When can I open my eyes?”

“Just keep walking, love.”

I groan but do as he says. He’s pulling me along slowly, as he has been ever since we parked the car probably a black away. “Where are we going anyway?

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

We go up some concrete steps and passed heavy metal doors. I hear voices all around us, too many for me to figure out what they’re saying. I just keep letting Baz drag me. Because I trust him. I mean, of course I do. We've been together for five years now. So I'll keep following him, even though I’m still super confused.

He takes me a few more steps, then we stop.

“Alright, Snow,” he says. “Open your eyes.”

I blink them open slowly. Everything comes into focus. We’re in a brightly lit building, just outside another set of big doors. I give Baz a curious look.

“Go in,” Baz urges.

I shrug, and push them open. Then I stop breathing.

They all bark and yap at me excitedly from behind the fences. Jumping up, tails wagging, tongues hanging out. They’re all tiny, furry and bloody adorable.

“Puppies!” I squeal.

I run up and lean over as many pens as I can. My heart sings with every tiny squishy puppy face. I turn to see Baz smiling softly at me.

“Baz, they’re so cute!”

“Yes they certainly are.”

“Crowley, I want to take them all.”

Baz chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, I’m not sure that’s possible. But, how about picking just one?”

My jaw hits the floor. “Are-Are you serious?”

“Yes. You think I just brought you here for fun? Pick one, and we’ll take it home. Sound good?”

I stare at him for far too long. His brow furrows. Once I can will my limbs to work again, I stride over to him. He looks even more confused just as I grab his face and kiss him. It’s messy enough our teeth almost clash, but he still kisses me back, sliding his hands around my waist. I pour all I’m feeling, the love and gratitude and caring, into this kiss until we have to break away panting.

“I love you so much,” I whisper against his mouth.

He giggles. “Love you too. Now go pick your dog.”

“Gladly.”

I race back to the pens. There are so many different kinds. A little pug snorting with it’s squished face. A yappy chihuahua jumping against the fencing. A bulldog, a lab, a german, shepherd. Just so many! But my eyes settle on one in particular.

It’s a corgi, with big pointy ears, little snout, and tiny legs. But its is black and white, and it has a fluffy curly tale. It looks up at me with big, round black eyes. The card on the wall says it’s a he, and his name is Buddy. (I can change that.) When I look down at him, my heart pools in my shoes.

“This one,” I say.

Baz walks over. He puts an arm around my shoulders, looking down into the pen. “This one?”

“Definitely.”

“Alright then. Pick him up and we’ll go get the papers done.”

I turn to him with one eyebrow raised. “I can do that?”

“M-hm. Everything’s already arranged. All you needed to do was pick one.”

I grin so hard my face aches. I reach down and scoop up the puppy. He wags his tail, tongue hanging out of his little mouth. I hold him to my chest and he snuggles in. It’s one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen.

Baz squeezes my shoulder. I let my head falls onto his shoulder.

“He’s perfect,” I sigh.

“Agreed, love.”

I lean up to kiss his cheek, grinning almost evilly. “You wonderful genius. You’re getting so much dirty sex tonight.”

“Snow!” Baz says, mock scandalized. “Not in front of the new baby!”

I chuckle, leaning into him. “Arsehole.”

I stroke Buddy’s little head. He licks my fingers, making me giggle. Baz reaches over and scratches behind his big ear.

“Seriously, thank you, Baz,” I whisper.

“You are very welcome.” He presses his lips to my hair. I hold my new puppy even closer.

“Happy birthday, Simon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The puppy got a puppy! Just so you know, Buddy is a corgi-husky mix. Look them up. They're soooo cute! 
> 
> Next up: crossover day!


	12. Crossover Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz gets attacked by a raven and meets a strange man.

**Baz**

I think I’m reconsidering DC as Snow and my vacation spot. Which is a bit late, since I’m currently standing in the middle of Lincoln Park. We could have gone to Paris or something. But we somehow settled on the American capital, a relatively chilly city with a lot of museums. Not very different from London, where we already live. Yeah, we’ll go to Paris next time.

I’m waiting for Simon now. He’s run off to find some after-lunch before-dinner snack. I’ve decided to wander around this gorgeous park. It’s lovely place, decent sized with trees and a honking huge statue. The sunlight speckles the ground through the leaves. People mill around, laughing and playing. It’s all sort of nice, sort of peaceful.

Then a bird flies straight for my face.

I yell profanities and stumble back, trying to bat the giant raven away from me. It screeches and pecks at my skin.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Chainsaw!” Some American yells. “Get back here, you little shit!”

The bird yells in my face one more time and flies off. It lands on the arm of a very odd man. He looks about my age, but much...rougher. What with the shaved head, muscle tank, and combat boots. His fashion sense reminds me of Aunt Fiona's. His face is all sharp, hardened lines. Stranger still, there’s a hint of a tattoo crawling up his neck. It hooks viciously on his pale skin.

“Why the fuck did you fly away like that?” He growls at the bird, as if it’ll answer him.

 _Kerah!_ It caws, then turns to me, making the rough American turn too. He takes a few steps forward.

“Sorry about that,” he says. “She’s been antsy ever since we got here. We’re from out of town.”

“You brought a bird on a trip to DC?” I blurt out. I’m in too much shock to be polite, sue me.

He scowls, blue eyes burning with angry fire. “Yeah. Great observation, dickhead.”

I scoff and roll my eyes. “Well, what I’m really asking is why?”

The man pets the raven’s head almost instinctively. “Because she freaks out even more without me. No different than a dog or something.”

My resolve softens slightly. I kind of understand. Especially considering the way he looks at this bird. I sigh. “Alright. Apology accepted.” I offer my hand like the gentleman I am. “Basilton Pitch. Most people call me Baz. Pleased to meet you.”

He looks at my hand a little apprehensively, almost disgusted. I push it forward a bit more.

“C’mon,” I say. “I don’t bite. Not most of the time, anyways. Depends if you piss me off again.”

The man chuckles. A smile spreads across his face, but there’s nothing kind about it. It’s a smile made for war. He takes my hand. His grip is strong and calloused. And the oddest little jolt goes through my veins. It’s not an emotional response, certainly a physical one. It reminds me of the feeling of magic, but it’s foreign. There’s something strange about it.

“Ronan Lynch,” he says. “And I usually bite right off the bat.”

I laugh myself and give his hand a firm shake. “Pleasure to meet you. Mr. Lynch”

We let go, and Ronan immediately falls on the bench. He spreads his arms and legs out like he owns it. Crowley, he looks like he could take over the world with a single sneer. The infernal raven rests on his shoulder. I sit politely next to him, ankles crossed and hands in my lap.

“What’s a Brit like you doing in DC?” He says gruffly.

“Vacation,” I reply. “Had a hard year at school and decided I needed a break.”

He scoffs. “That’s what school does. Melts your brain and calls it learning. It’s all shit.”

“What an eloquent opinion.” I earn a glare for my deadpan response.

“Not everyone needs school.”

“You’re not in uni?”

“Nope,” he says with another evil smile. “Don’t need it.”

“What do you do then?”

“I’m a farmer.”

I let a loud laugh, head falling back against the bench. I expect Ronan to laugh at his joke along with me but he says nothing. When I look back, he’s looking at me blankly, completely unamused.

“Wait, you’re serious?”

“Yeah. I don’t lie, man.”

“Pfft.” I look out towards the park, crossing my arms. “Everyone lies.”

“Not me.”

He doesn’t elaborate and we fall into silence. Birds chirp, people walk past, the wind whistles in the leaves. Ronan doesn’t say anything. He seems to be comfortable without words. Sort of reminds of Simon’s preference not to speak.

“So what are you doing here?” I ask. “Some sort of American bird convention here in DC?”

Ronan scoffs. “I fucking wish. My best friend is back in town and he wanted to come here. He’s a fucking nerd, likes all the museums and shit. I don’t.”

“Hence why you’re sitting in a park.”

“Yes, ‘hence’, you pretentious shit.”

I chuckle. “Sorry my advanced vocabulary is annoying.”

“Bullshit. You’re not sorry.”

I flick my eyes over to him, and see he’s looking back with a sort of cool resignation. A corner of my lip tugs up.

“You’re right. I’m not.”

He scoffs, but he’s smirk slightly too. “Knew it. You’re just like Gansey.”

“Gansey?”

“Nerd friend. He’s a stuck up ass just like you. You’d like him a lot.”

“Hm. Not so sure about that. Us pretentious arses tend to repel each other. We’re like territorial dogs. My boyfriend’s best friend is one and we bicker endlessly.”

His head turns suddenly, sharp face all scrunched up. “Boyfriend?”

Crap. Well, it’s good to know leather jacket wearing punks with ravens can be homophobic too. I raise a singular eyebrow, keeping my composure. “Yes, boyfriend. Got a problem with that, farmer?”

Surprisingly, he grins, but it’s more amused than evil. “No. It’d be weird if I did though. Considering I’ve got one too.”

Both my brows shoot up to my hairline. Ronan laughs maniacally, enough to make his shoulders shake and Chainsaw flap and caw in protest. “Man, your face, dude,” he gets out between sputtering giggles. "Fucking priceless."

“Oh fuck off,” I mutter. “You were shocked first.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t look like a goddamn deer in the headlights.”

Bit by bit, Ronan controls his breathing. He flicks a laughing tear from his eye, then tilts his head back to look at the sky.

“So what’s your’s like huh?” He says.

I smile, sorting through the best words to summarise Simon Snow. “Reckless, destructive, idiotic, impulsive. Also one of the bravest, most kind, most compassionate people on the planet. So sometimes I don’t understand why in Merl- God’s name he’s with me.”

Ronan chuckles. “Sounds like a real catch.” With that statement, you’d expect sarcasm. But he actually he seems to mean it. I chuckle as well.

“Yeah, he is. How about your’s?”

Lynch sighs, smiling at the sky. There’s an almost dreamy look in his eyes. I’d point it out, if I didn’t fear he’d kill me in some horrific manner for it.

“Mine, well,” he chuckles. “He’s not reckless but he’s also an idiot. He just thinks it through then does dumb shit, usually for a good reason. Stubborn and prideful as fuck too. But he’s actually really smart, also brave, and a lot nicer than he thinks he is. Gotta keep reminding the dipshit of that.”

I tilt my head back like he has, smiling like him too.“Your’s sounds like a catch too.”

“Hell yeah he fucking is.”

We fall back into silence, both staring the clouds above. They swirl and twist across the bright blue sky. It’s sort of nice. Just easy. I think this Ronan Lynch likes it too.

“I don’t usually talk to strangers,” he mutters. “Don’t really like new people.”

“Me neither,” I reply.

“But you’re okay I guess. Got nothing better to do.”

“You’re alright too.”

“Well if that isn’t the most amazing fucking compliment.”

“Hey, it’s the best you’re going to get, Old Macdonald.”

He lifts his head up, throwing me a narrow eyed glare. “Seriously? Old Macdonald?”

I shrug (I’ve picked up the habit from Snow.) “You told me you were a farmer. The jokes write themselves.”

“Well if you aren’t a-”

“Ronan Niall Lynch! Where have you been?!”

Both our heads snap to the left. A weirdly beautiful man in a Harvard sweatshirt and faded jeans is marching towards us. His eyes are pale blue, deep set in his face above impossibly high cheekbones. He’s got unevenly cropped dusty hair and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. And he looks ready to kill Mr. Lynch right where he sits.

“Afternoon, Parrish,” Ronan says with a very large shit eating grin. “What’s up?”

“‘What’s up?’ I’ve been looking for you everywhere. All you texted was ‘in lincoln park’. That’s quite a large area. You couldn’t have been more specific? And this all could’ve been avoided if you bothered to pick up your goddamn phone, and Gan-” He suddenly notices me, blinking confused a few times. “Who are you? Is Ronan bothering you? He does that.”

“Good afternoon,” I start. “I’m-”

“A British dickhead,” Ronan mutters with a smile. I glare viciously.

“It’s actually Baz.” I stand and offer my hand to Mr. Parrish. “Baz Pitch. Mr. Lynch’s raven attacked me and we started chatting from there.”

Parrish’s eyes go wider than humanly possibly. She shakes my hand mechanically, and the same spark as before runs through me again. So there’s something strange about both of these Americans.

“You chatted?” Parrish says to Ronan. “Who are you and what have you done with Ronan Lynch?”

Ronan shrugs. “Dude’s a gay asshole like me. We bonded.”

I smile at him, and he smiles back. Parrish turns back to me, shaking my hand more firmly. “Well then, nice to meet you. I’m Adam Parrish. You must be some sort of miracle worker.”

I chuckle. “No no, nothing like that. Like he said, we’re both gay arseholes. Easy to bond.”

“We were talking about you, actually.” Ronan tugs on Adam’s arm, sending the freckled boy tumbling into his lap with a yelp. He wraps his large arms around his waist, keeping him from standing up. “Comparing boyfriends and all.”

Ronan’s eyes acquire the same dreamy look as before. The raven caws, nuzzling against Parrish's head. It obviously shares the same affection as Lynch. Adam’s face goes bright red. Ronan’s grin gets even more shit eating. I just laugh.

“So this is him?” I say. “The stubborn, smart idiot?”

Adam’s embarrassment goes away, trading it for an annoyed look at Ronan. “You been talkin’ shit about me, Lynch?” There’s the faintest hint of a southern accent in his voice, the ‘g’ slipping off and vowels extending.

“I don’t lie, Parrish, you know that.”

Parrish rolls his eyes and hits Ronan’s chest, but he’s smiling. “Yeah yeah, I know. Now let me up.”

“Fine, if you insist.” Ronan loosens his grip, but plants a kiss on Adam’s still slightly red cheek before letting him stand. That only makes his blush worse.

“We’re done with the Glendower exhibit,” Adam says firmly. “Gansey says it inaccurate, unsurprisingly. Blue and Henry won't stop telling him 'I told you so.' They’re all at an ice cream place now.”

“Did you get Opal ice cream?”

“Of course.”

He groans. “It’s the afternoon. She’s going to be up all fucking night now.”

“Hey, you try to tell her ‘no ice cream’ at an ice cream parlour.”

“Fine,” he grumbles. He turns to me, looking exasperated. “Word of advice, Pitch: don’t have kids. They’re amazing but also the worst.”

I blink stupidly. Ronan can't be that much younger than me. And he has a kid? I feel like this leads to a longer conversation we don’t have time for. “Al...right. I’ll remember that.”

“Good.” Ronan jumps to his feet, one hand shoved into his leather jacket pockets, the other around Adam’s middle. “Now it’s been nice talking but we’ve got to-”

“There you are Baz!”

Adam and Ronan peer over my shoulder. I turn around, and a grin spreads on my face. There’s my idiot boyfriend, in his favourite orange coat and blue jeans, walking towards us with a paper bag in hand, no doubt carrying a cherry related pastry within. Simon puts his arm around me and kisses my jaw before realising there are two other people with us. He looks shocked and quite embarrassed.

“Oh,” he says. “Uh, hi. I-I don’t know you.”

I chuckle, putting my arm around him too. “They’re new...acquaintances, love.” I indicate Ronan. “Meet Ronan Lynch,” then Adam, “and Adam Parrish. Lynch, Parrish, this is the aforementioned boyfriend, Simon Snow.”

“Oh! Hi!” Snow enthusiastically shoves his hand out. “Nice to meet you!”

Ronan chuckles, but he still shakes his hand. “You forgot to mention he was so fucking hyper, Pitch.”

Snow’s brow furrows, turning to look at me curiously. “What did you tell him about me?”

“Only good things, love. I promise.”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

“Well, only true things.” Ronan flashes me a proud grin.

Simon takes Adam’s hand too. “Hi. Sorry if my boyfriend was an arse to you. He does that. Though I have a feeling you’re used to it.” He tilts his head towards Ronan.

Adam nods. “Oh yeah. I definitely am.”

“We have more in common than appearance than.”

Both Ronan and I go wide eyed. Now that he mentions it, yeah, they do look alike. Tanned skin, lots of freckles, blue eyes, light brown hair, and currently matching amused smiles. Lynch and I look at each other simultaneously.

“I think we may share a type, Lynch,” I say flatly.

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.”

Adam and Snow laugh loudly. I flick Snow’s ear, and he sticks his tongue out at me. Lynch pinches his boyfriend’s side, making him convulse. It takes a bit for both of them to calm down.

“We should get back to the others, Lynch,” Adam says when he's fully calm. “Gansey will worry.”

Ronan rolls his eyes. “Dick is always worrying.”

“Yeah, because you give him a reason to. So let’s get going.” He looks at Simon and I with a kind smile. “Nice meeting you two. Thanks for babysitting my boyfriend, Mr. Pitch.”

“My pleasure. And it’s Baz, please. If you two ever end up in London, feel free to look at us up. Without the bird, preferably.”

“No promises,” Ronan says, flashing another war smile. Though I should be annoyed, I just smirk back. There's something endearing about his annoying stubbornness.

“We should be off too,” Simon interjects. “Enjoy the ice cream!”

Adam nods. “Will do. Have a nice day.”

“You too.”

We all simultaneously turn and walk in opposite directions. Simon sighs and leans his head on my shoulder. I pull him closer like always.

“Hey, Baz?” he asks, voice low.

“Yes, darling?”

“Did you feel something...weird, when each of them shook your hand? Like magic, but not quite?”

“Actually, yes. You did too?”

He nods vigorously. “Definitely. There’s something, odd about them. I mean, I like them, but there’s something else going on.”

“Agreed.” I turn my head slightly, catching a glimpse of the other two boys walking with their arms around each other. They do look utterly normal at a glance (minus the raven), but I swear there’s something strange. “Maybe we’ll find out, if we see them again.”

“Maybe. Mystery for now, I guess.”

“Yeah,” I say. “They’re definitely more than a bit strange. Nice, but strange.”

Turns out DC was a good vacation pick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay let's pretend this takes place in a universe where Ronan would not just walk away from Baz almost immediately after meeting him. But still, I think Ronan and Baz would get along. They have a lot in common, including their taste in guys :D Also Gansey, Penny, and Baz would get along because they're all nerds and would compare nerd notes.  
> Fun fact: I actually started the Raven Cycle because I clicked on fan art of Adam thinking it was Simon. Then I found out it wasn't, looked up where it was from, and said, "huh, I should read this series, it sounds cool." Soon I fell down the damaged-boys-and-girl-looking-for-a-Welsh-king rabbit hole :)  
> Anywho, hope you liked this TRC crossover. Sadly, I don't have time to do WLW, but I probably will publish one on my own later. So stay tuned, Theo will return on December 12th with "stuck together"!


	13. Stuck Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz has just returned to Watford, and he's still getting over what happened to him.

**Baz**

It’s just a regular day, the first one in awhile. I’ve been back at Watford over a week and people have reacclimated to my presence. Younger years are properly cowering, Dev and Niall are acting like they always do, and Snow...well, Snow is actually different. He keeps looking at me funny. But not usual funny, as in disgust or hatred, but sort of like worry. Which can’t be right. Why would Snow be worrying about me?

I’m walking down a hall. My leg is killing me, almost numb at this point. I pause and lean against a wall. I’m in a corner, near a supply closet, where no one will see how pathetic I am. I stamp my foot, trying to force some feeling into it again. That’s when the annoyingly beautiful object of my affections speed walking towards me.

“Hey, Baz,” he shouts. “Can we ta- ah!”

His toe catches on the old carpet, sending him tumbling forward into me. He hits me with an oomph. We fall backwards into the supply closet. Snow, in all the confusion of the falling over, accidentally kicks the door and it swings shut. We’re plunged into almost total darkness.

Oh no. Crowley, not again.

I’m thrown back. I’m back in that infernal coffin, surrounded by nothing but blackness, alone with my own stupid mind and aching body. Snow’s weight on me crushes the air out of my chest. I violently push him off, only vaguely aware of his sound of protest.

“No no no,” I whisper. “Not again, Aleister Crowley, not again.”

I lunge for the door, furiously turning the doorknob, but it’s locked. I’m locked in again. I’m trapped again. I slide down with my back against the door, pulling at my hair. Air tries to enter my lungs but it escapes almost immediately. The small space is closing in, darkness crushing my body, all of it tearing apart my sanity. I’m alone, I’m alone, I’m-

“Baz! Baz, what’s wrong?!”

Simon.

I’m still staring at the ground, not looking at him, but I can feel his hands gripping my shoulders. His strong fingers press firmly into me. It should hurt, but it actually helps. I try to focus on him. Let his grip ground me in reality. I’m not in the coffin, I can’t be, not if he’s here in front of me. I slowly look up, eyes quickly adjusting to the dark. I can see him more clearly than a human could, which is very good right now. Yes, there he is. Instead of the black surrounding us, I focus on those features, the ones I know so well but wish I didn’t. The only thing that kept me sane in that coffin.

Blue eyes, bronze curls. Simon Snow.

My body starts to calm down, but the panic is still rushing through me. Out of nowhere, his strong arms wrap around me, pressing my head into his chest. I can feel his pulse, hear the way his lungs expand and deflate in a steady rhythm. Yes, I can focus on that, instead of the fear pumping through my veins. With every inhale, the panic ebbs away, reminding me that I’m not trapped in a coffin anymore. I’m safe. I’m safe with him.

I’m not sure how long we do this, Simon holding me. Eventually, he adjusts so his back is against the wall instead, my head still against his chest. His fingers work themselves into my hair, fingers massaging my temple. I hold onto his arm. Every point of contact keeps me in reality. Crowley, part of me never wants to let him go.

Finally, I feel like I can breathe again. I slowly push away and Simon lets me. I lean back against the door, head tilted back, breathing slowly. His hand is still holding mine. But I don’t try to move it away.

“You okay?” he whispers.

I nod. “Yeah.”

“What...what was that?”

“Panic attack. First one I’ve had one in ages.”

He grips my hand tighter. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault, Snow. You tripped.”

“No no. I mean, it must’ve felt awful. It looked awful.”

“It is.”

We go back into silence. Realistically, we should be pulling our wands out and finding a way to unlock the door. But I don’t feel like moving yet. I feel like if I move I might go into another panic attack. And I sure as shit don’t want that.

“Hey, Baz?” Simon asks, voice still quiet.

“Yes, Snow?”

“You kept saying ‘not again’. What...what did you mean by that? Like, did you just mean the panic attack? Or, something else?”

I consider the very realistic possibility of just telling him. Letting the truth slip out and finally tell someone other than my family. But I think about how Snow will look at me. The pity and sadness that will be in his blue eyes. No, I can't take that. I can't bear him viewing me like that. Not yet at least. Maybe not ever.

“No,” I say firmly. “I just don't like small dark spaces.”

"Oh. Well that makes sense, I guess.” He sounds a bit disappointed. Maybe he guessed it was about my disappearance. Maybe he's smarter than I give him credit for.

“We should probably find a way out of here,” I mutter.

“Yeah,” he replies. “That’d probably be smart. I still have something to talk to you about.”

For a second, just a moment, I let my hopes get up. Maybe he’ll finally say what I’ve wanted him to say since I was 15 years old. I try to squash them down but they keep bubbling back up. Crowley, I am so weak. I just want to hear what he has to say.

“Alright,” I say. “Let’s get out of here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, sorry Baz, we all know what Simon's going to tell you, and it's not what you want to hear.  
> Also sorry if I seem repetitive with the panic attack thing again. It just ended up working again for this. Like Baz was traumatized from being that coffin. If he got stuck in an enclosed dark space again he'd freak tf out. I wanted to explore that. Hopefully you enjoyed this. Next on our list, late nights/early mornings!


	14. Late Nights/Early Mornings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz wakes up far too early because of Simon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is short and silly. Hope you like it :)

**Baz**

“Yes! Got a good one!”

Though he’s (sort of) trying to whisper, Simon’s voice still wakes me up. He’s sitting against the headboard, staring at his phone. The dawn is just peeking in through our bedroom window. It’s far too early to be waking up on a weekend.

“Snow,” I grumble. “Why are you up? It’s Saturday, we don’t have work.”

“Have to get my daily orbs,” he replies.

I sit up for the sole purpose of looking at him confused. “I’m pretty sure those were English words, but they have absolutely no meaning to me put together.”

He rolls his eyes and turns his phone to me. It’s some silly phone game with brightly coloured anime characters. Lots of blinding blues and greens shine in my eyes. There are numbers underneath the anime character portraits that I suppose must be significant.

“What is this?” I say, squinting at the screen.

“Fire Emblem Heroes. Penny told me about it. It’s fun!”

“What do you even do?”

“Oh, well you’ve got all these characters, and you send them into battles, and with every battle you level them up. Then you get these orbs every day and once you have enough you can get more characters. It’s really fun, look!”

Simon leans back again against the bed, and I sit up too. He starts one of these battles. Which mostly involves moving little chibi characters around to fight other chibi characters. But he seems to like it, face all screwed up in determination. It’s actually very adorable. He soon wins the battle and lets out a victorious whoop, then turns to me with a grin.

“See? Fun.”

I shrug. “Well, you seem to enjoy it.”

“I do. But," he frowns slightly. "I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“It’s fine,” I sigh, sliding back down onto my pillow. “Doesn’t mean I have to move yet. Too comfortable anyway.”

I close my eyes, just relaxing under the heavy covers on this winter day. I expect Simon to keep playing his game or go raid our kitchen. But instead, I feel him slide back down too, moving closer to me. Cracking open one eye, I see Simon a few inches from me, smiling softly.

“Thought you were wide awake,” I mumble.

“Yeah. Doesn’t mean I have to move either.”

“What about your game?”

He throws an arm across my waist, pulling himself closer to me until our noses touch. I can feel his warm breath on face.

“It’ll still be there later. Rather be with you right now.”

I smile, reaching up to bury my fingers in his tangled curly hair. We both close our eyes.

“Sounds good to me, Simon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is dedicated to my friend, who came up with the idea of someone being woken up by the other getting phone game rewards. He let me use it on the condition the game be his favourite one, Fire Emblem Heroes. He gave me a vague idea of how it works, so if I messed it up, I'm sorry FEH fans, I did my best. I pretty much based Baz's impression of the game on my own from watching my friend. He never puts it down, honestly. So big thanks to my nerdy guy friend :D
> 
> So I don't have time for the trip/adventure or royalty prompt. But like many of these prompts, they're evolving into longer fics I may publish later. I shall return on the 16th with opposite day, which is a long one so look forward to that! :D


	15. Opposite Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz Pitch, quiet bookworm, hates his snobby roommate. Little does he know how things can change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I know this seems weird but trust me, everything is explained.

**Baz**

When I started going to Watford, instead of just living there, I looked forward many things. Tough but interesting studies, intelligent teachers, nice people. What I hadn’t looked forward to, nor expected, was my roommate, Simon Wellbelove. Simon is everything expected of an Old Family son. Posh, well spoken, traditionally attractive. He’s everything I’m supposed to be. Except for the whole vampire thing. (Well, I haven’t proven that yet.)

If only that wonderful charm applied to me. I swear he's made it his life's mission to make my life a living hell ever since first year. Insults, tricks, curses, anything stupid and petty. I don't know what I've done to piss him off so much. Maybe he wants to scare me before drinking my blood? Who fucking knows. Either way, I've always had to watch out for him.

Which is _definitely_ why I’m watching him from across the hall at supper now. He's not doing anything out of the ordinary, unfortunately. Just calmly discussing something with his twin sister, Agatha. I try not to focus on his perfectly cut straight corn blond hair. Or his piercing golden brown eyes. Or his flawless pale skin. (That's probably a vampire thing though.)

“He’s plotting something awful,” I mutter. “I can feel it.”

“Sure, Baz. He's a totally evil. Maybe he'll push you down the stairs again. So destructively sinister.” Penny deadpans from across the table, not even glancing up from her textbook.

I humph, pushing my glasses further up my nose. “I’m serious, Pen. He's a vampire, he's evil!”

“You always say that. Everyday, actually.” She gives me a bored look over her own spectacles.

“Oh, shut up.”

Penny scoffs and looks back down. I look at my own book, resisting the urge to look up again. I try to convince myself that urge comes from anticipating his next insult.

Penelope doesn’t know the real reason I watch him. The reason that started in fifth year. But of course she doesn’t know, I haven’t told her. I’ve never told anyone. I mean, how do you say, _“hey, I know my tosser roommate who hates me is a blood sucking monster, but I’m definitely gay and more than a bit attracted to him. Because even though he’s an evil vampire, he’s unbelievably hot. Just thought I should clarify that.”_

I should tell her though. Penelope is my best friend. Well, more like she’s the only that can keep up with me intellectually and doesn’t mind that I barely speak. So friends by default maybe. But I still like her a lot, and I know she likes me too. She acts all prickly, but when I hurt myself trying a new incantation she’s the first one there with the healing spells.

But I really wish I didn’t feel like this. Because Simon is still a vampire, and a tosser.

“Trying to spy on me for your mother, bookworm?” Case in point.

I don’t look up from what I’m reading, but I know he’s behind me. He almost radiates magic. I’m just as powerful and skilled, but it doesn’t waft off me like it does him. It’s freaky and amazing all at once.

I don't want to look at him either. 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, Wellbelove,” I mutter.

“Oh, you think I don’t see you watching all the time, Pitch? You’re not as invisible as you wish you were. My father’s been challenging your mother in the Coven. Guess she got you to be Mummy’s little eyes and ears to get dirt on his son, hm?”

I growl slightly. Simon chuckles.

“For someone so good at magic, you really can’t speak,” he sneers.

“Fuck off, Wellbelove,” Penny spits. “If you were really as smart as you think you are, you wouldn’t bug the Mage’s son.”

Simon scoffs. “Like he’ll do anything. You’ve got your mother’s magic, Baz, but you certainly don’t have her fire.”

I hate to admit it, but he’s right. I’m not strong and stubborn like my mum, or like him. I’m not the perfect son like him either. Old Family heirs aren’t supposed to be quiet, awkward book nerds. It’s not like I’m unpleasant or anything. I’m a very polite person when necessary. I just prefer staying quiet. My mother is fine with my silence as long as I do well in school (which I do), but my father finds it mortifying. He can’t believe the son he got stuck with. Sometimes I think he wishes Simon was his son, no matter how many times I tell him Simon’s a vampire (which he bloody well _is._ )

I’m almost done my food, so I just scoop up my near empty plate and my book.

“See you later, Penny,” I say quietly.

She sighs. She knows it’s better for me to just leave. Simon laughs loudly as I walk away. And I’m reminded that, no matter how beautiful he may be, he’s still an arsehole.

* * *

 

The biggest problem with your worst enemy/regrettable crush also being your roommate is that you can’t escape each other. You share a home base. It’s like if the empire and the rebels both operated from the same planet. So I stay in the library as long as possible, reading books I’ve already read a hundred times and practising spells I know I can do. Until the librarian literally shoves me out the door. I stomp up to my room, holding my books like a comfort blanket.

When I enter, I immediately freeze.

Simon is standing on his side of the room, facing away from me. Completely shirtless.

Oh Crowley, _why?!_ Why does the universe insist on torturing my stupid self loathing gay arse? I want to look away, but my eyes are locked on his back. His long, pale back, that moves beautifully as he lifts his arm up in the air to stretch. I try not to think about how I want to run my hands across his shoulders, trace my fingers up his spine, press my lips to every part of his exposed skin.

He whips around to face me, brown eyes burning with rage. But I swear there’s a little embarrassed flush going up his neck. (Didn’t think he was actually capable of an emotion beyond smug contempt or terrible anger.)

“What the fuck, Pitch?!” he yells. “Ever heard of knocking?!”

I growl, fist clenching the doorknob. Right, attractive, but still a dickhead. “It’s my room too, Wellbelove. Don’t have to knock.”

“Fuck off, you peeping tom.”

He throws on the closest sweater, a purple one that says “Watford Lacrosse”. (Agatha plays. At least he’s a supportive brother, that’s a good trait.) I huff and walk to my bed, collapsing on the mattress. I hold my book in front of my face, purposely blocking him from my vision. I can’t look at him without risking a blush. And I don’t want to give him that satisfaction.

I hear him stomp into the bathroom. Once the door’s shut, I can finally breathe. His presence is always suffocating, for more than one reason. Quickly, I change into my pyjamas, then flop down again with my back turned to Simon’s bed. I hear him come back and lay in it. He’s probably facing away. He doesn’t like looking at me as much as I pretend I don't like looking at him.

I wait for a little bit, then turn over. He's just a giant blanket lump with his head sticking out. He always sleeps with far too many blankets (vampires get cold easily). I know he’s probably faking it. Waiting for me to fall asleep so he can sneak off and feed in the catacombs. (I used to follow him there, before I gave up in favour of getting a good amount of sleep.) I’m pretty sure he’d drink all my blood right now if he thought he could get away with it. Sadly for him, I’m too important to die. Lucky me. But I know he'll probably get so furious or hungry one day he'll forget who I am.

Godammit, I’m so weak. I stay there, letting myself gaze at his pale blond hair, watching how the moonlight reflects off the yellow strands, thinking about how I want to run my fingers through it. Nicks and Slicks, why do I hate myself so much? Of all the people I could be attracted to, I pick my worst enemy. The one person who will never want me back. I’ve felt like this for three years, and it’s only ever been torture.

Fuck this. I turn over again. Maybe I can’t get rid of these feelings, but I can avoid them. I can not look at him. But when I close my eyes, all I see are brown eyes and blond hair.

* * *

 

“Basilton! Stop staring!”

I flinch at my full name. Penny only calls me that when she’s particularly annoyed.

“For the last time, I’m not staring,” I mutter.

“You’re a filthy liar Basil, and you know it. You've been staring all class. Now stop it and help me with this potion.” She turns back to her cauldron. I really should be helping her, but I’m also bored. I’ve never liked doing potions. They're too easy.

I humph and lean my cheek on top of her head. (I love that she’s so much shorter than me.) She growls, trying to push me off. “Get off me, you ridiculous tree boy!”

“But I’m tired, Pen,” I whine in a wonderfully over dramatic fashion.

“I hate you so much.”

“Yet here you are working with me.”

She jabs my side, finally forcing me off. “Don’t let it go to your head, Pitch. You’re just the smartest kid in the class after me.”

I roll my eyes. “Sure. Just you watch, Penelope, I’ll beat you to top of the class by the end of the year.”

Penelope smirks and lifts her head up haughtily. “M-hm. We’ll see.”

We may seem mean, but we never say anything nice to each other. It's just how we've always interacted. I don’t think I’ve ever actually called her my friend. I guess it’s just a mutual understanding thing.

She goes back to the potion, and I subtly (at least I hope subtly) look at Simon. He’s working with his sister, of course. Those two are inseparable. Their whole family is weirdly isolationist. My mum says that they practically disappeared for five years after Simon and Agatha were born. I wish I knew why. (Penny says I’m nosy. I say I’m naturally curious.)

“Baz, pass me the sage.”

I push the bottle to her, eyes still fixed on Simon. There’s a constant war raging in my brain when I look at him. On one hand: arsehole, vampire, constant reminder of my own failings as an Old Family son. But on the other: downright gorgeous, brilliant in magic and everything else, intimidating in a way that’s weirdly sexy. Dear Merlin, I am _definitely_ disturbed.

“Nicks and Slicks!” Penny shrieks.

My head whips around to her. Our cauldron is bubbling over with thick grey smoke. A high pitched sound increases in intensity, then the whole thing explodes in a deafening pop. I stumble back as I’m splattered with grey goop. Penny yelps as she’s similarly caked in the sludgy stuff.

I’m frozen, somewhere between mortified and disgusted. Fuck, I gave her the wrong bottle! I was staring at Simon and passed Penny the wrong bottle. Crowley, I'm such a fuck up.

Everyone is silent for awhile. But someone has to break the quiet. Of course it’s him.

Simon lets out a loud, hearty laugh. “Aleister Crowley,” he sputters. “Nice job, Pitch. You’ve created a new fast form of wall painting. Maybe stand out of the way next time!”

I hear someone smack him, probably Agatha. (She may be snooty but she certainly doesn’t share his cruelty. She’s the nice twin to his evil.) I’m so glad my glasses are mostly covered with goop right now. I really don’t want him to see me cry, even if it’s in frustration and embarrassment.

“Uh,” our teacher says, “Mr. Grimm-Pitch and Miss Bunce, why don’t you go to the washroom and clean up? Then we’ll deal with the mess here.”

“Okay,” I say weakly.

Penelope and I both walk out with our heads down. I wipe off my glasses on my sleeve, which gives me a clear view of Penny. Oh shit. She’s hunched in like a bull ready to charge, teeth clenched in a scowl.

“Um...Penny?”

“What?!” she snaps.

“Are you mad?”

She stops and lets out a long breath. I stop too.

“Am I mad?” Penny is practically seething. “Am I mad?! For fuck’s sake, Baz, mad doesn’t even begin to describe what I’m feeling. Rageful, furious, ready to knock you flat on your stupid arse, those are closer!”

I look down at the ground. There’s a pit in my stomach, which I probably deserve. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you’ve said that before, Basilton. Yet you keep obsessing over your goddamn roommate, instead of paying attention in class, or just...talking to me.”

I huff. “You know I don’t like talking, Pen.”

“That’s not what I mean!” She punctuates her words with a stomp, then she rubs the bridge of her nose under her grey smudged glasses. “I mean, we hang out, and if you talk at all, you talk about Simon. Vampire this, plotting that. It’s ridiculous. He’s takes top priority no matter what.” She looks up at me with round, sad eyes. “So what I’m trying to say is, for someone with only one friend, you seem pretty intent on ignoring her.”

My throat dries up. Oh Merlin, I’m a horrible person. I was so wrapped up in my little world I forgot about her. It’s terrible, I’m terrible. I want to tell her that, but like always, I can’t find the words.

“Penny I-I’m really- I didn’t mean to- You’re-”

She sighs and raises her hand. “Y’know what? Forget it, Baz. Come talk to me when you’re ready to actually be my friend.”

She walks off, and I just stand there like an idiot. I can’t believe I’ve been hurting her this long. I’m her friend, her only one. And there’s no doubt she’s my favourite person. So why the hell haven’t I been acting like it?

“Forget where the bathroom is, Basilton?” Simon muses from behind me. Why he’s out here is beyond me. “Did your disastrous concoction destroy brain cells as well as clothing?”

I whip around to glare at him. He’s grinning ear to ear with his impeccably white teeth. And I hate him more than ever right now.

“Fuck you,” I grumble and stomp away. Simon scoffs once, then walks in the opposite direction.

That does it. Tonight, I’ll follow him to the catacombs. He won’t be expecting me so I can catch him off guard. I’ll prove once and for all that perfect posh wonderful Simon Wellbelove is a vampire. That I was right all along. Then father won’t want him instead of me, and I can stop being so distracted, and finally end my masochistic crush on his stupid evil arse.

Yes, it’ll solve everything. I know it.

* * *

 

This time, I wait for him to fall asleep. I haven’t done this since fifth year. I just lay in bed, eyes closed, breathing softly. He doesn’t move for a long time. And for a brief second I’m worried he’s not going, and nothing in my life with be solved.

But soon I hear a rustle and faint footsteps. (Simon has a weirdly light gait.) A few minutes after the door shuts, I rush up to follow. I still remember how to follow Simon. He’s not as discreet as he thinks he is. Out of Mummer’s House, to the White Chapel, and into the catacombs. I keep a calculated distance and just listen to his ligh footsteps. Soon I hear them stop. I slowly step closer and closer, creeping through the dim tunnel. And then, I freeze.

He’s crouching on the ground, hunched over like an animal. There’s a disgusting munching and slurping sound. I gasp far too loudly. Simon whips his head around. There’s a little red around his mouth, a rat clutched in his hands, and blood stained white fangs pushing out over his lips.

I can’t move. I’m not sure what to do. After all these years of trying to prove that Simon Wellbelove is a vampire, I’m finally faced with it. And I have no fucking clue what to do.

But he does.

He growls and lunges forward with his inhuman speed. He wraps his hand around my throat, glaring sharply. He looks more like a wild animal than a person. I gag, and he lifts me up far above him. Fuck he’s strong. I scrabble at his hand, but his grip is iron.

I go for my wand, which should be in my back pocket. But...oh fuck. Fuck, I forgot my wand! I’m being strangled by a vampire and I forgot my wand! Shit, after all these years, he really is going to kill me.

“S-Simon,” I choke out. (I hate that I’ve resorted to begging for my life.) “Don’t, please.”

Suddenly, the humanity returns to his face. His expression falls, brows going up, eyes widening, and mouth falling open. As suddenly as he picked me up, he drops me to the ground. I collapse in the gasping mess. Simon steps away quickly. I look up again, he still seems distressed. Or maybe even full on scared. I slowly stand. We stare at each other for a long time. Wide eyed grey and brown locked together.

“I was right,” I finally breathe out. “Aleister Crowley, I was right.”

Simon snarls, lips pulling back harshly and glare narrowing. “Yes, Pitch, you’re right. I’m a vampire, a filthy blood sucking monster. You've finally got proof. Congratu-fucking-lations!”

“But...you didn’t kill me. You-You could’ve, but you didn’t.”

“Of course not,” he scoffs. “You just surprised me and I panicked. I’m not a murderer, you blundering idiot.”

The statement hits me in my core. He says it so viciously, so angrily, but it clashes with the kindness in his words. He says wouldn’t kill me. And strangely I believe him. I mean, I have to. I’m still standing, aren't I?

I walk towards him, but he turns away sharply, leaning back against the wall and showing only his profile. His fingers fly to his mouth. He chews at his nails furiously.

“Oh Crowley, Merlin, and Morgana, I’m dead,” he mutters. “You’re going to tell everyone and Headmistress Pitch will throw me out of Watford and snap my wand and pull out my fangs. Oh god, then Mum and Dad will have to turn me out. They’ll have no other choice!” He slides down the wall, heel tapping the ground rapidly

I kneel down next to him and slowly reach towards him. “N-No they won’t. They wouldn’t do that. You’re their son-”

“No I’m not!” He slams his fist into the brick, making it crack. His voice is thunder in the cramped dark hallway. I jump a little, hand shooting back to my side. Quickly he goes back pulling at his hair and gnawing his nails.

“What do you mean?” I say. “Of course you’re their son.”

He groans, scowling as he tilts his head back. “I’m not. Not in blood anyway.” He sighs shakily. “I’m adopted, Baz.”

My eyebrows shoot up. What the fuck? I can’t process what he’s saying. Adopted?! Simon Wellbelove is _adopted?!_ “But...you and Agatha are twins. You two look exactly alike.”

Simon chuckles sadly. “Yeah, it’s uncanny, right? Too uncanny. Our- Well, biologically just her parents spell me to look like her. Been doing it for thirteen years. Agatha touches it up every few weeks.” He turns slightly, sardonic smile showing. “They do a pretty good job. Can barely tell I’m a total fraud, right?”

Wow, and I thought I was the one with a self deprecating streak. He keeps staring ahead, leg jittering angrily. Crowley, he looks so freaked out, and just...tired. Dark bags hang under his brown eyes. There are stress wrinkles on his usually perfect face. I hate seeing him like this. My gut hurts with regret, because it’s all my fault. I made him feel so sad and scared. Just because I wanted to help myself at his expense. Sure, he's a bully and an arsehole, but he doesn't deserve to have his life destroyed.

Slowly, I sit with my back to the wall too. I reach towards him again and place a hand on his shoulder. Surprisingly, he relaxes, letting out a slow breath. I get brave and put whole arm around him. He leans against me, head on my shoulder and knee touching mine. For the first time, I realise that he’s actually shorter, by at least three inches. And he feels particularly small against me right now. I hold him, letting him breathe slowly in and out to regain his composure. After many moments of silence, I find my voice again.

“Wanna talk about it?” I whisper.

“About what?” he replies under his breath.

“Anything. You can tell me whatever you like. I promise I won’t say anything.”

He shifts uncomfortably, then holds up his hand, pinky sticking out. “Pinky swear it?”

I chuckle slightly. “Seriously? Are you 7?”

He shrugs, gnawing on his bottom lip. “I don’t know. It’s what Agatha and I do. Cause we know magic can keep you from breaking a promise no matter what. But doing this means we really trust each other, that we don’t need magic to make sure. So...pinky swear?”

Merlin, I can’t believe how adorable he is. Cold, mean, terrible Simon Wellbelove makes pinky swears with his sister. And believes in them more than magic. I reach forward and wrap my finger around his.

“Pinky swear,” I say.

Simon smiles softly and shakes our hands once. We let go, and he goes back to leaning on my shoulder. He lets a long breath.

“Merlin, where to start?” He mutters.

I shrug. “Maybe with start with the vampire or adopted thing? One or the other, I guess.”

He chuckles sadly. “Well, they’re sort of intertwined. I guess...I guess it starts with my parents. My biological ones. I barely remember them, actually. I know they were mages but that’s about it. We lived in a cabin in the middle of nowhere. The only other people we ever saw were the Wellbeloves. They were friends with my parents, practically lived with us. Agatha and I would always play together while they would talk. It was fine. We were...fine. “

Simon's face pulls together like he's in pain. “But one day, when I was five, we all went for a walk. Us and the Wellbeloves. I was running up ahead. All of a sudden some guy jumped out at us. It- it all happened so fast. I was closest so he went for me first. He grabbed me and then...well I don’t remember much. Just the searing pain of his teeth in my neck. I passed out, and when I woke up, I was back in the cabin. The Wellbeloves told me the man was gone, but so were my parents. The two of them covered me in healing spells but nothing could fix what had already been done. What I was changing into.” He shivers a bit at those words. “Mum and Da- well, Mr. and Mrs. Wellbelove back then, told me they were taking me back to their house. And that from now on I was their son, they were my mum and dad, and Agatha was my sister. I would’ve questioned it more but, well, I was five. I just did what I was told. Stupid, right?”

“No, of course not," I say, shaking my head. "You were just a child, it makes perfect sense.”

He leans closer to me and I swear my heart stops. “Thanks.”

I rub my lips together. Something is still bugging me. But I feel weird asking it.

“What is it, Baz?” Simon says, almost playfully. “I can hear you thinking up there.”

“It’s just- It’s that- I’m wondering if...”

“Spit it out, Pitch.”

I groan and roll my eyes. “Fuck off. I’m just wondering...I’ve seen the Book. My mum’s showed it to me more than once. Your name is there under ‘Simon Wellbelove.’ And I mean, your fath- well, adopted father, is influential, but even he can’t manipulate the Book. How can your name be there? Sorry if that’s too prying...”

Simon shakes his head against my shoulder. “Not, it’s alright. You’re correct. Agatha did have a real twin named Simon. But he got sick at only a week old. That’s when the Wellbeloves went to my parents. Mrs. Wellbelove had heard of my mother and knew she was a good healer. But she couldn’t save him.”

“That’s when the Wellbeloves became recluse?”

“M-hm. They didn’t even tell anyone he’d died. Just sort of...pulled away from the World of Mages. Just stayed with my biological parents. My mother had me not long after other Simon died. Which makes me two and a half weeks younger than Agatha, actually. I was named after him, the real Simon Wellbelove. But because my biological parents were so isolated, I was never written into the Book. So when they died, it was surprisingly easy for the Wellbeloves to pretend I was their Simon all along. I guess it all worked out in the end.”

Simon sighs. I look at him and realise his eyes are closed, all scrunched together, like he’s trying to block out the pain. I don’t blame him. I can’t imagine what it would be like growing up like that. I mean, the Wellbeloves most likely treat him well, but there’s also probably a part of him that feels like a replacement for their dead son. I just keep holding him. It's the best I can do.

“Part of me can’t believe you’re telling me all this,” I say with a little laugh, trying to break the tension. “Always thought you hated me.”

Simon inhales sharp. Shit, I’ve fucked up again. “I don’t, y’know. Hate you. Actually...” He looks down ashamed. “I’m sort of jealous of you.”

My eyes bug out more than they should. What the hell? I blink a few times confused. “What? Seriously?”

Simon nods nervously. “Yeah. I mean, everyone thinks I was born into this Old Family world, but I know I’m fake. I’m always scared I’ll slip up and people will see I’m a fraud. So I just try to do what everyone expects of an Old Family son. Be cold, sharp tongued, charming. But you...you know you’re a part of that world no matter what. You can do whatever the fuck you want and not be worried someone will realise you’re not who you say you are. Crowley, I wish I could do that.”

I look at him curiously. “Is that why you act like such a dick to me? Because you’re pretending? And...you’re jealous?”

He keeps looking down, but I can see an embarrassed flush on his face. “Yeah. It’s not an excuse, I know. I’m sorry. You’re a nice person, you don’t deserve my crap. I’m just, I’m really sorry.”

It’d be so easy to hate him, like I have for years. To tell him that he’s a dickhead for taking out his shit on me and I never want to see his stupid, fake, lying face ever again. But I’m not going to do that. Because that would hurt him, and I don’t want to be another source of his pain. Even more important, seeing him now, I think deep down he's a genuinely good person, and he's genuinely sorry.

Plus...I really like this, what we're doing now. Being kind, being open, actually talking to each other like real people. I definitely like it a whole lot better than fighting.

“I accept your apology,” I say. “But y’know, I don’t think you have to pretend. People here aren’t as observant as you think they are, I promise.”

He smiles slightly, head finally lifting up a bit. “You really think so?”

“Yeah. I mean, you’re white as a sheet and have unnaturally clear skin, but I’m the only one who figured out that you’re a vampire. Everyone else just assumes you’re another extremely pale Brit. Most people are seriously idiotic.”

Simon laughs loudly at that. It’s deep and genuine. It makes my stomach drop. “Okay, very true. Maybe you have a point.” He sighs, leaning his head back on the brick wall. “You know, I don’t even remember what I used to look like.”

My jaw drops. “Really?”

“Yeah. Like, I have a vague idea that I wasn’t this pale before being bit, or blond before I was spelled. But nothing that concrete. My family never lets the illusion slip, which I understand, of course. Still, I do wonder what I really look like.”

An idea crosses my brain. A terrible, wonderful idea. No, it probably wouldn’t work. The Wellbeloves have pretty strong magic. But...I’m a Grimm-Pitch, dammit. I have the fire of two strong families in my blood. I might as well put it to good use.

“I-I could try, y’know,” I say weakly. “Reversing the spell. I mean, I might be powerful enough.”

He looks at me with wide wondering doe eyes. It’s adorable. “Seriously? You think so?”

“Yeah. I-it’s worth a shot right?”

Simon nods vigorously like an overexcited child. “Yeah! Yeah definitely. Get your wand and do it now!”

Oh right. My wand. I chuckle nervously, rubbing the back of my neck. “Um, I actually left my wand upstairs. That’s why I couldn’t attack you.”

He looks at me blankly, then bursts out laughing. “Oh Merlin! And here I thought you were being noble! But you were just being a forgetful idiot!”

I huff. Maybe he is still a bit of an arsehole. “Whatever. I wasn’t going to attack you anyway. Honestly, I had no idea what I was going to do if I found you.”

He lifts a single brow. “Did you expect this?”

“No,” I say with a small chuckle. “Certainly not.”

He sighs and pushes off the wall, standing on his feet in a flash. “Well, let’s get going. I’m dying to see what I actually look like. Well, dying more than usual, considering I’m already dead.”

I stand too, facing him. “You really think you’re dead?”

“Yeah. Don’t you?”

I think about it for a second, rolling the idea around in my mind. Then shake my head. “No, not really. You’d be pretty lively for a corpse.”

He smiles, his mouth a thin curved line. “Thanks. Not many people would agree with you.”

I shrug, shoulders coming to my burning ears. “Well, most people don’t really know you. They’d be idiots to think otherwise.”

His smile morphs into a toothy grin. It’s lively and joyful. He looks beautiful.

Simon reaches forward, taking my hand in his. He feels about room temperature, but I guess that’s the blood. My heart leaps up and down. It hits me that tonight, for the first time, my feelings for him go beyond simple physical attraction. I feel something a lot deeper, a lot better. And I never want it to stop.

“Now c’mon.” He tugs me towards the exit. “Let’s see the real me.”

* * *

 

We get back to Mummer’s House very quickly. Simon never lets go of my hand. When we reach our room, he still doesn’t release me (not that I’m complaining). It’s only when we sit does he let his grip drop, picking at his nails instead. I take my wand from the bedside table where I accidentally left it. Crowley, I’m shaking so bad. What if I fuck this up? What if I can’t do it? He’s so excited, I can’t disappoint him. I don’t want to hurt him.

We sit at the end of my bed facing each other. Simon has turned on one lamp, the soft light illuminating one half of the room. I keep my hands in my lap, fiddling with the leather handle of my wand. He's chewing on his lip furiously.

“I’m still not sure if this will work, Simon,” I say quietly.

He nods slowly. “I know, Baz. But I want to at least try. Alright?”

I nod too. “Alright. You ready?”

Simon takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and squares his shoulders. “Do it.”

I raise my wand and try to force my hand to stop shaking. Cautiously, I point at his face.

 _ **“I see your true colours.”** _ I put as much power as possible into my words. My magic washes over him. I can almost feel some sort of invisible layer catch ablaze, char, and blow away. Simon shudders slightly.

It starts with his hair. The straight blond ends just below his ears turn in slightly, then they pull up and become full on ringlets. Suddenly, he has a gorgeous, wild thatch of curls all around his whole head. The corn yellow fades away, replaced with shining bronze. It glows gold in the lamplight. And...Aleister Crowley, he has freckles. Actual honest to Merlin freckles and moles. A practical constellation of them cover his face and neck. I can’t help but stare, silently counting them. Three moles on his right cheek, two below his left ear, and one under his left eye. They look darker than they probably should on his ghostly complexion. But I like them. Slowly, Simon opens his eyes, and my breath hitches. They’re not golden brown anymore, but blue. Not a typically interesting blue though. Not cornflower, not navy, not with a shot of hazel or violet. Just...blue.

But they’re even more beautiful than before.

Simon looks at me, wondering and a bit worried. I try to stifle the laugh bubbling out of my throat but I can’t. It comes out as the smallest giggle. Simon frowns, now bronze eyebrows pushing together adorably.

“What is it?” He says, voice quite nervous. “Is my face all fucked up now? I hope not. I like my face.”

I shake my head vigorously. “No no, certainly not. It’s just, you have freckles. It's kind of funny.”

He gasps, jaw practically dropping to the floor. “I do?!” He dashes off towards the bathroom. I follow, just in time to see him lean over the sink, peering into the mirror. “Aleister fucking Crowley, I do!”

He laughs loudly and genuinely, tracing a finger over the little specks on his cheeks. I’ve never seen him so happy before. He runs his hand through his now thick hair, pushing the curls back and letting them bounce forward. He does it over and over again like a child with a new toy. Slowly, he leans forward, pulling his lids apart slightly.

“I’ve got blue eyes,” he whispers in awe. “Wow, didn’t expect that.”

“They look good,” I say, before I can think it through. Simon turns to me, smirking. I look down in an attempt to hide my blush. “But, y’know, it’s not like you didn’t look good before. I-I mean, you’ve always looked good, and you look really good now, and-”

“Baz!” He steps forward and grabs my hand, purposefully lacing our fingers together. I let out a shaky breath. “It’s alright. I know what you’re trying to say.”

I chuckle. “Okay. Okay, good.”

“You really aren’t good with words huh?”

“Yeah. Unless they’re a spell. I don’t like talking to people. Though,” I rub my thumb over the back of his smooth hand. “I like talking to you. When you’re not being a tosser.”

He giggles. (It’s so cute.) “That seems to improve conversations. But, yeah, I like talking to you too. You’re the first person outside of my family I’ve felt truly comfortable with. It’s...really nice.”

Oh Merlin, I want to kiss him so bad, even more than usual. Because I know now that he’s not evil, or a monster, or even an arsehole, really. He’s just...a boy. A stupidly gorgeous boy, with blue eyes and bronze curls.

We’re so close. How did that happen? His face is inches from mine. Our hands are still locked. He’s not smiling anymore. His mouth is just hanging open, half lidded blue eyes wandering around my face. I notice that he looks at my lips for far too long. Oh Merlin, is he thinking the same thing I am? No, he can’t be. Right?

“Baz...,” he says.

Screw it. I kiss him.

He gasps sharply, and for a second I think I’ve made a huge mistake. But then he pushes back with equal force, shoving his fingers in my hair. I grab his waist and pull him closer. His mouth is cold. But I should’ve guessed that. He pulls a bit on my hair and I can’t help but groan. I press my hand into the small of his back, making him arch against me. He’s doing a nice thing with my chin that makes all my thoughts melt away. All but one that is: _I’m kissing Simon Wellbelove. Aleister Crowley, I’m living a charmed life._

When breathing becomes too difficult, we pull apart slowly. My mouth is still tingling. Simon’s eyes slowly open. He looks at me with awe, kiss-red lips slightly parted, pupils blown wide. A smile splits across my face. He smiles right back. We giggle to ourselves, foreheads tapped together, just soaking in the absurdity of this situation. We’re worst enemies. And we just snogged.

“You know,” he says between giggles, “that was my first kiss.”

I snort out a louder laugh. “Really? Wow. Mr. Wellbelove the Popular is a kiss virgin.”

“Oh shut up.” He’s blushing. (It’s cute.) (Merlin and Morgana, I think I’m allowed tell him that them that now.)

“You’re so cute," I whisper. His blush only increases. "And in the spirit of full honesty...that was my first kiss too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.” I pull back so I can look at him, carefully pushing a soft brown curl off his freckled forehead. “Truth is, I’ve only ever wanted to kiss you, Simon.”

His beautiful perfect mouth opens fall open. Merlin, his face is almost completely pink.

“I- Uh, okay. That’s...wow.”

“Now who’s the shitty speaker?” I chuckle and cock an eyebrow.

He groans, rolling his eyes. “Still you, dickhead.”

“Well, I can’t disagree with that.” I lean forward again. “Since I’d definitely like to stop talking right now.”

Simon grins, then surges toward me, consuming my mouth in his. And I’ve officially died and gone to heaven.

* * *

 

I don’t know what time it is. I've sort of lost track.

We kissed until our mouths were sore. Simon held himself on all fours above me and made me reach for his mouth. Which I did, and I know I would again and again. At one point he joked about accidentally Turning me with all his saliva. (Though he did seem a bit genuinely worried.) Either way, it was one of the best experiences of my life.

We’re laying in my bed now. Simon plays with my fingers between us. I trace over the moles on his face. Though neither of us say it, we both know I’ll have to spell his appearance tomorrow. It’s our reality. But reality can wait just a bit longer. For now, I can lay here and marvel at a particular mole on Simon’s cheek. I want to kiss it. So I do. It makes him let out the most adorable giggle.

“Y'know," he whispers, "I think my biological mother had freckles."

I pull back, still cupping his face. “Hm. You think so?”

“Yeah. Her specific appearance is still fuzzy, but I remember that she had spots on her face. Like I do, I guess” He holds my hand loosely, swiping his thumb over the back of it. “I’m starting to remember a bit more about her now. My dad too. Maybe seeing my real face triggered the memories or something. She was blonde and freckly. He had a moustache and wore a lot of green. They both had blue eyes. They looked nice. They were nice.” His face crumples, mouth twisting and eyes closing. I scoot forward, bumping his nose against mine.

“I’m sorry. It...it must be hard.”

“Yeah, it is. But...I'd rather remember the painful stuff than not remember them at all.” I run my fingers through his hair, attempting to comfort him. It seems to work though. Simon sighs, pressing his face into my shoulder. We stay like that for awhile. I'd stay like this forever if he needed me to.

After a long silence, I feel a chuckle reverberate down my arm. “You know," he whispers, pulling back so we're face to face again, "out of all the things I can remember about about my mother, I remember her telling me about my middle name. Weird huh?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Are you going to tell me what it is?”

“Well, it’s silly. That’s what she told me. That everyone in her family, including the two of us, have silly middle names.”

“Stop teasing and just tell me, arsehole.”

He grins all the way to his ears. His blue eyes sparkle with mischievous, almost joyous energy. (Yeah, there’s no way he’s dead.) He whispers one word, so quiet I know it’s only meant for me.

“Snow.”

* * *

 

When I enter the dining hall for breakfast, I see Penny immediately. She's hard to miss honestly, what with the bright purple hair. My chest feels unbelievably tight. Well, no time to be a coward. (And I am feeling particularly brave after last night.) I march towards her.

“Mind if I sit here?” I say, willing my voice to not shake.

“Depends,” Penny snorts. “Are you going to stare at Wellbelove the whole time and pretend I don't exist?”

“No. Because that would mean ignoring my best friend.” Her spine straightens at that. I guess it really is the first time I’ve said it out loud. “And considering she’s actually the only friend I have, that would be stupid. Wouldn't you agree?”

She turns her head ever so slightly. She's still scowling, but I can see the angry lines of her face softening. “You are pretty stupid.”

I sit down and cautiously put an arm around her shoulders. “Yeah, I know.”

She hesitates for a moment, but leans her against me. “You’re my stupid best friend though.”

My heart swells at that. It really does feel good to hear it said out loud. “Yes, your stupid best friend who's very sorry for yesterday.”

“Good. You should be.” She tilts up to look at me. “Promise to stop with the Wellbelove obsession?”

Crowley, I hope I'm not blushing. I'm going to tell her of course, but I can't right now. What do I say though? “Well, actually Pen, I-”

“Mind if we sit here?”

Both of us look up, my arm falling off her. Simon is standing there grinning, with Agatha just behind him. She’s looking very worriedly at her brother. Like she’s scared that he's gone completely fucking insane. (Well, he must seem so to her.)

“Uhh...” For once Penny’s the speechless one.

“Of course, Simon,” I say calmly. He smiles wider. Penny gasps so hard she chokes. Agatha’s eyes bug out of her pretty face.

“Thank you, Baz,” he replies as he sits opposite us. Agatha sits too, still looking shell shocked.

I let myself gaze at him for a bit, now that I’m allowed to. He's back to being a brown eyed, clear skinned, straight haired blond now. I spelled him this morning (very well if you ask me). But he quietly asked me if I'd take it off tonight. He said he wants to get used to his real appearance. I said I would, of course

Penny gives me a side look that says, _‘what’s going on?’_ I pat her hand to reply, _‘I’ll tell you later.’_

“So how ready do you feel for the magic words today?” Simon asks, leaning forward, softly smiling. I’ve never seen him so pleasant and warm in public. He’s never let himself, I guess. Now he’s not as afraid anymore. I'm glad. I definitely prefer him like this.

“Pretty ready,” I say. “I mean, anything goes badly I'll just try song lyrics. Those usually do the job.”

“Oh Agatha did that once.”

Agatha inhales sharply. “Simon! Shut up!”

Penny leans forward, grin positively shit eating. “Oh there is a story behind this I know I’m going to love.”

Simon smiles back in the exact same way. It’s scary how equally pleased they look. Maybe they could get along, even be friends. That’d be fantastic.

“We were 13,” Simon starts. “Agatha was going through her emo phase and became obsessed with My Chemical Romance. She literally blasted it so loud I could hear it in my room on the floor above. But one day the music stopped, and there was this loud explosion. Mum, Dad, and I ran to her room. There stood Agatha, wand pointed at her closet, covered in sticky pitch black powder. All her clothes were drenched in the same stuff. Turned out she tried to spell her wardrobe black with the MCR lyric _**‘so darken your clothes.'**  _But something obviously went wrong. It took days for Agatha to wash all the black off herself, and weeks to get it out of her clothes. Mum made us scrub them in wash basins in the backyard!”

Penelope throws her head back laughing. I snicker without shame. Agatha groans, rubbing her temples with a scowl. Simon barks out a laugh. His eyes blaze with the same life they had last night.

“That’s amazing!” Penny says, wiping a laughing tear from her eye.

“I know right?” Simon replies. “Still the funniest thing to happen in the Wellbelove household to date.”

“I thought we agreed never to speak of that ever again,” Agatha grumbles.

Simon knocks her shoulder. “Oh come on, Ags, it’s hilarious. And at least you got over the MCR phase. Most people aren’t so lucky.”

“Oh tell me about it!” Penny groans. “My sister is going through it right now and it’s the worst.”

She and Agatha fall into a mutual commiseration over loud emo music. They seem to be getting along. Simon beams at them, and rightly so. It's wonderful that my best friend and his sister like each other. Whatever Simon and I are doing, whatever we have, it will certainly work better if both Penny and Agatha are in our corner. And if they’re not arguing in said corner.

Suddenly, I feel something tap my foot, a shock running through my nervous system. I look up to see Simon’s eyes locked on me, half his mouth tugged up in a smile. He looks so soft, so kind. I realise it’s his toe touching mine. A blush crawls up my cheeks. But I’m not embarrassed, because for once I don’t have to be ashamed of what I feel, and neither does he.

I love it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, my take on opposite day. Hope it made sense to you guys haha. 
> 
> Tbh I thought about making Simon just the adopted son of some random made up Old Family but honestly it made more sense if it was one we already knew. Plus it's pretty clear that the Wellbeloves adore Simon so they'd probably take him in. Agatha and Simon would be great siblings anyway. I always got the impression they loved each other more like a brother and sister or friends would, but social/family pressures made them think they had to date. So yeah, that's why I did that. Honestly I had way too much fun writing this. Hope you enjoyed it :D
> 
> Tomorrow: cooking/baking!


	16. Cooking/Baking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's post-Watford, and Baz has been avoiding Agatha. Penelope decides to change that.

**Baz**

I wake up in the large bed, the California sun streaming in through the windows. I know Florida is supposedly “the sunshine state” but I’m pretty sure California could give it a run for its money. No matter, I still groan and throw the blanket over my head, reaching for Snow, who should be beside me. But I reach and touch empty sheets instead. That’s when a loud, familiar laugh comes in from the kitchen.

With great effort on my part, I get up and make my way towards it. Wellbelove’s American flat is very nice. It’s summer break, so her two roommates are away, opening up one room for Bunce and one for Snow and I to all borrow. (I’m surprised Wellbelove got their permission to let her us stay in them.)

Soon I enter the kitchen. There’s pop music playing on the bluetooth speakers. Snow and Wellbelove are giggling about something over the counter

“Should I even ask what you two are doing?” I say calmly. “I’m a little scared to.”

Snow turns around, grinning ear to ear. “Morning, love.” He holds up a bowl filled with sloshing white batter. “We’re making pancakes!”

I cock an eyebrow. “How successfully?”

“Not very,” Wellbelove says, not turning around. “Considering Simon keeps eating the ingredients and batter.”

Simon effects a defiant pout. “They’re tasty.”

“Yes, which is why they’re supposed to be in the pancakes.”

“She’s got you there, darling,” I interject.

He rolls his eyes dramatically. “Yeah yeah, shut up, you two. You wanna help?”

I tense up unintentionally. It’s not that I’m opposed to pancakes. It’s that I’m worried about being around Wellbelove.

It’s not that she’s unpleasant or been rude in our time here. It’s that I have no clue what to do around her. She’s not my friend, never was. In fact, I quite disliked her. But now I’m dating one of her best friends so we’re suddenly supposed to be nice. Most of all, I fear a very uncomfortable conversation, where she’ll ask how I ended up with her ex without her noticing. Call me paranoid, but I’m quite sure she’ll somehow make our relationship about herself. She always did try to suck me into her maiden fair drama. And I for one do not want to bring that back from our Watford days.

“You know,” I say calmly, “I think there shouldn’t be too many cooks in the kitchen. I’ll just make some coffee.”

“Oh make some for me too?” Simon asks. “French vanilla with cream and-

“Lots of sugar. Don’t worry, love, I’ve memorised your coffee preference at this point.”

“Thank you!”

I go to Wellbelove’s coffee maker. It’s one of those fancy little cup ones. There’s water already in it, but I have to wait for it to boil. I turn it on and make my way to the living room.

“Morning, Baz,” Penny muses from the couch, where she’s curled up with Great Expectations. I sit on the other end, facing the large window.

“Morning. How’s Dickens?”

“Horribly depressing, as usual. How’s avoiding Agatha?”

My breath hitches. I slowly turn to look at her smug face, peeking out over her pages. I narrow my eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I mutter.

“Please, Basilton, you’re not as subtle as you think you are. You’ve been avoiding Agatha like she’s an open flame. Or worse, your father. Only question I have is why?”

I shift uncomfortably, looking at my feet. “I don’t know. It’s not like we were friends before, so there’s no previous reference point  for us like for you and Simon. And I don’t look forward to any conversation about me dating her ex-boyfriend.”

Bunce raises an eyebrow. “What, think she’ll yell at you for stealing her man? Or you being with him instead of her?”

I shrug (Snow has had quite an influence on me). “I don’t know... Maybe?”

She laughs obnoxiously loud. I growl and look away, crossing my arms. “Shut up,” I grumble.

“Oh Baz,” she chuckles. “Don’t you remember? Agatha broke up with Simon first. And that was ages ago. She’s not going to go jealous ex-girlfriend on you. Seriously, Baz, way to be sexist.”

“Hey, I’m not-”

“Yes you are. Maybe not consciously, but part of you still sees Agatha as nothing more than ‘Simon Snow’s girlfriend’ or ‘the annoying girl who has a crush on you.’ She’s a lot more than that. If you actually talked to her, you’d agree.”

I open my mouth to protest, but just as quickly close because there’s no point. Penelope is right. I hate it and definitely feel terrible, but she’s right. Maybe I have been judging Agatha too unfairly. I really don’t know her too well, but I haven’t tried to either.

“Okay,” I sigh, “you may have a point.”

Bunce nods once. “Of course I do.”

Her brow furrows for a second, then a sly smile creeps across her face. My heart seizes. I know that look. That’s the “Penelope Bunce has a plan” look. That expression has caused me problems on more than one occasion. (I saw it the day before she decided we should all go paintballing. I had bruises for weeks, and I don’t bruise easily.)

“Bunce,” I say slowly, “what are you-”

She grabs my wrist and hauls me up (she’s surprisingly strong). I’m dragged across the room, back towards the kitchen.

“Hey Simon!” She shouts. “I think we should have some scones with breakfast. Don’t you?”

Simon perks up (as expected), flashing a wide grin. “Yeah, that’d be great!” His brow adorably furrows. “But what about the pancakes? Ags can’t make this many on her own.”

“Oh, Baz can help Agatha. Can’t you?”

I tense up, looking at her smug smile, then at a very wide eyed Simon. Wellbelove tenses up too, ever so slightly. I still see it though. (Growing up in my house, I had to learn to read minute body language very young.) Shit, I have no way to get out of this, do I? I just nod.

“Sure. You know I’m a brilliant cook, Snow.”

He smirks, only the corner of his lip pulling up. I love when he does that. It’s wickedly hot for some reason. “Well, can’t disagree with you there. I think you can handle pancakes.”

I roll my eyes. “Thank you for your vote of confidence, darling.”

Simon strolls over to me and plants a kiss on my cheek. I immediately go as red as I can. (He tends to have this effect on me.)

“Be nice,” he whispers, so quiet he knows only I can hear with my vampire hearing.

“Always am, love,” I reply.

He gives me one last smile before walking over to Bunce. They chat as they walk out. But once the door is closed, we’re left in total silence, save for the sizzling flapjacks. I turn to Wellbelove. She looks just as bewildered as me. Neither of us know where to go from here, I guess. Well, I’ll just make it up as I go along.

“How should I help?” I say as kindly as I can.

Wellbelove smiles just a bit. “You can start on another batch, I guess. Simon ate so much of this one, we’re going to need it.”

I chuckle. “Well, that is expected.”

I roll up my sleeves and go to the counter. All the ingredients and the cookbook are already set out. It’s a simple enough recipe, especially compared to the French cuisine I’ve attempted (and failed at) more than once.

As I mix the recipe, we stay silent. I know I should say something, but where to start? _Hey, I know we weren’t friends at Watford. Actually I sort of despised you because you were dating the love of my life. But now I’m dating him and you two are still friends so I think we should try to be friends as well. How about that?_ Fuck I’m bad at this. How did I get a boyfriend again? (Secret longing, insults, and a forest fire. Yeah, that won’t work now.)

“So,” she says, “how’s school going?”

She’s breaking the ice. She’s much braver than me. “Pretty well,” I reply. “Very challenging, but I always like a challenge.”

“I remember. You always did go for the toughest spells.”

“Damn right.” I pause for to grab an egg. “How about you? Is American education working for you? ”

She chuckles. “It’s working very well, actually. I’m studying veterinary medicine. I hope to work with horses someday.”

“You like horses?”

“Oh yes. Has Simon never told you?”

I run through what Simon has told me, and come up with nothing about Wellbelove and horses. (Most of what he’s said has been food related, stupid jokes, or inappropriate to share.) “Hm, no, I suppose not. Do you ride often?”

“Yes. I have since I was a child. I used to do competitions back home.”

“Really? That’s amazing. My sister wants to do those. I’m not sure how serious she is though. It may stem from her My Little Pony obsession.”

Agatha lets out a more hearty laugh. I look over my shoulder and she seems genuinely amused. It’s actually sort of nice. “Crowley, I’m not sure if that show has done more harm or good for the equestrian community.”

“It’s certainly done harm to my ear drums. My three sisters all sing the theme song completely off key.”

“Merlin and Morgana, sounds like hell.” She sighs, audibly flipping another pancake. “Y’know, I’ve always wanted siblings. But my mother believed that whole ‘magic splits up among children’ bollocks so I’m an only, lonely child.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “Trust me, Wellbelove, I have four younger siblings. It’s not as fun as it’s made out to be.”

“Still, I’d like to find that out myself. Closest thing I’ve ever had to a brother is Simon.”

I’m finished mixing the batter, so I bring it over to her. In the spirit of being nice, I suppress the loud scoff I want to let out. Right, brother, that’s why you dated him for years.

“Hm,” I say instead, not elaborating further.

“I know what you want to say, Baz,” she says flatly. Shit, guess I wasn’t as subtle as I thought. “To be honest, I never thought of Simon as a boyfriend.”

“Could’ve fucking fooled me.” The words are out of my mouth before I stop them. I’m definitely still very sharp tongued sometimes. Agatha winces, and for once, I feel bad for her.

“Sorry,” I sigh. “Just...a lot of repressed anger there. I watched you two date for years and it wasn’t exactly pleasant. But that’s not your fault, so, I’m sorry.”

Wellbelove nods slowly, a small smile creeping up her lips. “Y’know, I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you apologize for anything.”

I chuckle. She does have a point. “I’ve been trying to do it more lately. Snow and Bunce have been positive influences particularly in that regard.”

“That’s good. Glad you’re learning.”

I nod once, then grab another pan and put it on the stove top. I ladle the batter onto the buttered pan, grabbing a spatula. The two of us work in silence for awhile. I’m not sure why she’s silent, but I know why I am. There’s a certain subject sitting on my tongue. But I don’t know how to phrase it right. I’m usually so good with words, but now they all feel stopped up in my throat. Crowley, is this how Snow feels all the time? It’s dreadful.

“You know,” I mumble. “I thought you’d have a problem with Simon and I. Being together and all. I’m...I’m glad you don’t.” (Merlin, that was bad.)

Agatha sighs, not looking up from her pan. “No, I don’t have any issues now. But I’ll admit, I did at first.”

My body tenses. Shit, of all people, she’s homophobic? Well, she was raised by the same kind of family as mine. “Oh I see...”

“Not because you’re two blokes. Or because Simon’s my ex and I had silly schoolgirl crush on you. No, I was worried because I thought you were going to hurt Simon.”

I drop my spatula. It splatters pancake batter on the floor. I turn to her with a wide, slightly angry gaze. I can’t help it. That sort of judgement hurts. “What?!”

She sighs heavily, putting down her own flipper. “Don’t act so surprised, Basil. I barely saw when you and Simon were on that relationship creating truce. And even when I did see you two, you were still fighting. What I always saw was Simon spending all his time thinking about you and you hurting him. You teased him, cursed him, punched him, and tried to feed him to a bloody chimera. So when I heard you two were together, my first thought was ‘Aleister Crowley, has Simon’s obsession with Baz become _that_ unhealthy?’ I was scared for him. Because even though I was never _in_ love with Simon, I still love him with all my heart. And from what I knew about you, I was so worried you were going to hurt him, like you had been for years. Can you really blame me?”

Once again, I feel like an idiot. Seems to a running theme today. I sigh heavily as I lean against the stove. “No, I can't. Your worries make sense. I know I hurt Simon quite a lot back then. I regret all of it and apologized to him profusely. I can’t erase what I’ve done, but I’m trying to be better now, I swear. I want to treat him the way he deserves. I want to be good for him. And I hope I can prove that to you.”

“Don’t worry,” she says, sounding genuinely caring. “You already have.”

My nervous death grip on my utensil loosens. I flick my eyes over to her. “Really?”

She finally looks at me full on. Her golden-brown eyes are warm and kind. I can sort of see why Snow fell for her. “Now that I’ve seen you two together in person? Yes. Penelope was right, you two are sickeningly adorable with all your flirting. But as annoying as it is, it shows that you’re both happy, and deeply love each other. Which is wonderful. We all deserve happiness after the shit we went through.” She puts a hand on my shoulder. Despite the initial urge, I don’t flinch away. It’s weirdly comforting. “No matter what happened in the past, I’m glad you’re with him now. You’re very good for each other. Don’t ever doubt that.”

I smile a little lopsidedly. Merlin, I really do like her. Never thought I’d admit that. I pat her hand. “Thank you, Agatha.”

“You’re welcome, Baz.” She claps my arm once, grinning widely. “Now let’s finish these. Simon and Penny should be back soon and Simon will want at least ten.”

“Good point.”

I pick up the dropped spatula and go back to flipping the fluffy pancakes. (They’re turning out quite well.) However, Agatha doesn’t. She’s flipping through phone with an annoyed expression instead.

“What is it?” I say. “Mobile acting up?”

“No, I’m trying to find some good music for us. Though I don’t think you’d like most of my stuff. What do you usually listen to?”

“Horribly morose violin music. Snow and Bunce call it audible depression.”

She chuckles but still smiling. “Why am I not surprised? Alright, how about some Troye Sivan? Nobody, not even you, can dislike Troye Sivan.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

“Knew it.”

Agatha puts on “Wild”, Sivan’s smooth and melodious voice echoing out of the speaker. She starts to sing along. Her voice is nice, quiet but on key. Feeling a bit bold, I start humming along too. She knocks my shoulder.

“C’mon Basilton,” she mockingly groans. “You can do better than that.”

I flick my narrowed grey eyes at her. “Maybe I don’t want to.”

“Pleeeease?” She tilts her head and smiles wide in an attempt to convince me. And somehow, it does. I guess I really do like her.

I sigh. _“Leave this blue neighbourhood, never knew loving could hurt this good, oh. And it drives me wild.”_

She laughs blissfully and takes the next line. _“Cause when you look like that, I never ever wanted to be so bad, oh._ _It drives me wild._ _”_

All together now. _“_ _You're driving me wild, wild, wild. You're driving me wild, wild, wild. You're driving me wild.”_

We continue singing, getting through five songs. Surprisingly, we don’t burn the pancakes, as we’re pretty distracted by Troye Sivan. Agatha eventually adds in some horrible-on-purpose dancing. She spins in place and throws her arms up overdramatically for the big parts of the songs. I laugh with her, not one bit of mocking or cruelty in my mind. It’s actually a lot of fun.

Eventually, we finally run out of batter. (There was a lot.) We put our mountain of breakfast food in the oven to stay warm and turn off Troye. I sigh and lean against the counter. Agatha joins me, hanging her head back.

“Are those two really not back yet?” She groans.

“They’re probably staying out on purpose,” I say, tucking loosened strands of my hair behind my ear. “You know this was all a ploy by Bunce to make us bond, right?”

“Oh of course I know. Unfortunately, it worked. Now we’ll never hear the end of it from her.”

I groan, tilting my head back. “Fuck. As if her smugness wasn’t bad enough.”

“Agreed.”

Silence reigns again. I don’t know what to do, and seemingly neither does Agatha. She fiddles with her long blonde hair, chewing on her lip.

“Yknow,” she finally says quietly, “In the spirit of laying everything out, I never really had a crush on you. I just thought you were a way to escape the bullshit expectations put on me. Sorry for using you like that.”

I look over at her. She looks back. This time, I lightly hold her shoulder, and she doesn’t flinch either. “It’s alright. I understand that situation incredibly well. _I'm_ sorry for flirting with you just to piss off Simon. It was wrong and unfair.”

“It’s cool. Guess we both fucked up. We just have to not fuck up anymore.” She gives me a soft smile, which I gladly return. Wow, we’re really a lot more alike than I thought.

She sighs and puts her hands on her hips. “Well, what shall we do until they return?”

“Hmm.” I scratch my chin. “Want to play gin? Snow and I play it all the time now, and I think I’m getting better because I’ve actually won a couple of games.”

She points a long, delicate finger at me. “Okay, fuck magic, _that_ is a supposedly impossible feat. I applaud you. Simon’s lethal at that game.”

“Tell me about it! So, wanna see who’s the less terrible player?”

Agatha’s grin is simultaneously pleased and evil. She saunters around the counter and takes a seat at her dining room table “Gladly. Go get your cards, Basilton, and prepare to have your arse whooped.”

I do as she says. Bunce was right. Agatha is a lot more interesting than I thought. Part of me wishes I’d talk to her sooner. I hate to say, but thank you Penelope Bunce.

* * *

 

**Simon**

“Do you think we did the right thing, Pen?” I say, munching on one of the scones we bought. We walk down the bright hall to Agatha’s flat. Penny’s all upright and determined, while I’m more hunched over. I feel weighed down by worry.

Penny rolls her eyes. “It's not like we left them alone in the desert, Simon. It was just cooking.”

“Yeah, but you know Baz. He’s been a lot better lately, but he still goes for the lowest blow sometimes. I just don't want him jabbing at Agatha.”

She turns the doorknob. “Well if that's the case, I'll curse his skinny pale ar-”

“Gin! You lose again, Baz.”

“Godammit!” Baz throws his cards on the table, crossing his arms and pouting like a small child. Agatha throws her head back cackling. Penelope and I freeze at the doorway.

“You sure you won those games before, Basil?” She giggles out.

“I’m thinking now that those may have been flukes.” Baz turns to me, smiling kindly. “Hello, love. Got your scones?”

“Uh, yeah,” I reply. “What's going on here?”

“Baz is getting his arse kicked at gin,” Agatha announces proudly.

Baz glares at her, but with a sort of wry smile. “Am not.”

“You're losing 6 to 1, Pitch. I think your arse has been soundly kicked.”

“Pfft. Whatever. We have to stop now anyway. With these two back we can _finally_ eat those pancakes.”

“Yes, finally! Simon, Penny, can you set the table? Baz and I will get the food.”

“Um,” Penny says, still sort of shocked, “sure. Will do.”

“Awesome!”

Agatha jumps up and speed walks to the kitchenette. Baz gathers up the cards then joins her. Penelope and I wordlessly get out napkins and utensils, eyes fixed on my boyfriend and our friend. Those two are whispering, smiling, even giggling.

“ _Standing in the eye of the storm_ ,” Agatha sings so softly I barely hear it. (But I honestly don’t think I’m supposed to.)

“Oh shut up,” Baz chuckles quietly, playfully jabbing her side.

“But you said it was your favourite.”

“Shh! Don’t give Bunce any more teasing ammunition than she already has!”

Agatha laughs, knocking his shoulder as she brings the pancakes out of the oven. They’re being civil. Crowley, they’re more than civil, they’re acting like friends. It’s both amazing and confusing all at once.

“I think your idea worked,” I whisper to Penny.

“Yeah,” she replies. “And way better than I thought.”

The two of them keep quietly chatting as they get the rest of the breakfast supplies. For the first time, I see Baz smiling around her. That is quite a rarity. There are very few people Baz is comfortable with. Me, Penelope, and very occasionally his family. But, he’s comfortable around her. Thank Merlin, for many reasons.

I lean close to Penny. “Think I should worry about Agatha stealing Baz?”

She chuckles, rolling her eyes. “Yes, that is an incredibly real possibility, Simon. Your ex-girlfriend is going to steal your gay boyfriend. Be very worried.”

“Oh shut up.”

Agatha swans her way to the table, holding up the platter of beautiful looking flapjacks. She places them on the table.

“I present,” she announces. “Pancakes à la Agatha and Baz.”

“That’s not the proper use of French, Wellbelove,” Baz says amusedly as he places the syrup and butter on the table.

“Oh be quiet, Baz.” She playfully swats his arm with an oven mitt. “It’s pancake time, not French lessons.”

Agatha and Penelope take one side of the table while Baz and I take the other. The girls chat as they serve themselves. I grab Baz’s hand under the table, leaning over to his ear.

“Hey,” I whisper. “Things went well, yeah?”

He squeezes me once, skin cool and grasp firm, as usual. “Quite well. I’ll tell you all about it later.”

“Alright.” I pull back. “Let’s have some of these awesome looking pancakes then.”

“Gladly.”

I shovel the fluffy cakes onto my plate. Agatha and Baz start discussing horse competitions for some reason. I sigh in relief under my breath. As ridiculous as Penelope’s idea was, it seems to have worked. My boyfriend is no longer avoiding my other best friend like the plague. They’re becoming friends themselves. I couldn’t be happier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to do something with Agatha, and this worked well. Tbh Agatha would probably be freaked out because as far as she knows Baz is an asshole. I'd be freaked out if my best friend started dating their worst enemy. Hope you liked this. Tomorrow: stars!


	17. Stars (Children Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon and Baz help Penny with decorating her nursery. And Simon starts thinking...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to part 1 of this crazy idea Theo came up with. Hope you like it! :D

**Simon**

“Pen?” I shout. “Where do you want these?”

Penny loudly groans and waddles (that's honestly the best descriptor) into the yellow nursery. She glares at me, hands placed on the small of her back to support her large stomach.

“On the ceiling of course,” she says annoyed. “Where else are glow in the dark stars supposed to go?”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, but do you want them in a specific pattern or something?”

“I don't think the baby will notice nor care for a complicated constellation, Snow,” Baz says, smirking from the ground where he's painting a baseboard pale yellow. I smirk back. If I were not standing on a ladder, I'd kick him. Or kiss him. Either works.

“Baz is right.” Penny shudders slightly. “Oh that feels so wrong to say.”

“Ha ha, you're hilarious Bunce. Maybe your child will inherit your sense of humour.”

“Oh that'd be wonderful. Then I'll have someone to insult you with.”

They glare at each other menacingly. I'd be worried, but this is how they've interacted for their almost ten year friendship. Deep down they do care for and respect each other. Penelope _did_ name both of us godfathers of her baby. That speaks a lot louder than their jabs.

“Well,” I announce, “I'll put them in a nice pattern. Baby Bunce may not appreciate it yet but they will one day.”

Penelope sighs, stretching out her back. “Whatever, Si, It's up to you. I'm going to sit down. Movement is a nightmare.” She waddles out the door, groaning with every step.

“I'm so glad I'm male,” Baz mumbles. “Pregnancy looks horrendous.”

I shrug. “Yeah, but you get an adorable baby at the end. It's worth it.”

“I guess so.”

I bite at my lip. I've been meaning to ask Baz something for awhile now. It really shouldn't be this hard. We've been together for nine years, married for three. And it's not like we haven't chatted about the idea before. Baz had said it wasn't off the table, but I was far more cautious. But we were also still in uni. It felt so far away, and we were still so broken. Now we're 27 years old, married, and the most mentally stable we’ll probably ever be. Hell, we even have a flat together. A house with too many rooms.

“Hey Baz,” I say cautiously, “what do you think about all this?”

“'All this?’ You'll have to be more specific, love.”

“Y'know...baby stuff.”

“Well, I certainly hate the painting. I’d rather hire a professional. I think Bunce is making me do this as some sort of torture.”

I groan. Crowley, he’s usually able to pick up on subtlety. I put down the remaining few star decals and step off the ladder, facing his back as he’s stretched out along the wall. “Baz, do you want to have kids?”

Baz freezes, brush stilled in his hand. My heart stops beating. I’ve fucked up. I look at the floor, fiddling with my fingers. “I-I mean, not exactly right now, obviously. Someday? It’s just, I know we talked about it years ago, but we were so young, and I don’t know if yo’ve changed your mind since then. Just...all this baby stuff with Penny has got me thinking about it again. So, I was- I was thinking that we should talk about it again? W-We don’t have to though. If you’re not- If you-”

“Simon, stop.” I look up again. Baz is standing. His mouth is a thin, firm line, but his eyes are round. He reaches forward, placing his hand over mine, skin cool and comforting as usual. He takes a deep breath.

“Just, wait a moment,” he whispers. “Stay right here.”

Baz dashes off, leaving me blinking confused. Huh? What the fuck is going on? I’m even more lost than usual.

He reappears just as quickly was he vanished. He’s holding a thin blue binder. His hand is shaking slightly. “I, uh, I was hoping to show this to you when we were alone at home. But now seems like a better time.”

He hands it to me. I slowly open it, and my eyes bug out of my skull.

There’s pages and pages of printed info. Research on the legal process of adoption and surrogacy, addresses of agencies, spreadsheets calculating the cost of childcare vs. our combined salaries, even good schools in our neighbourhood. Literally anything and everything we’d need to know about having a kid.

I look up slowly, mouth hanging open. Baz seems nervous, maybe even embarrassed, a little red accenting his cheeks.

“You...you did all this?” I strangle out.

He nods slowly. “To be entirely truthful, I’ve been thinking about this, y’know, baby stuff, for awhile. But I wanted to be sure I had all the information first. I mean, us being two blokes, there’s more than a few extra steps. So I wanted to make sure I knew all the details. And, it’s definitely possible. For us. It’s not exactly easy. It’ll certainly be a headache. But still, we could...if you want, that is.”

I blink rapidly, very confused over the strained expression on my husband’s face. “Did-did you think I wouldn’t?”

Baz shrugs, shoulders coming to his pinkened pointy ears. “I wasn’t sure. I know you and parents is a...touchy subject. You said back then that you were worried about being a good father. I wasn’t sure if having kids was something you felt ready for now, or wanted. Just, you were so nervous last time we talked about it.”

“That was 7 years ago, Baz. I was still recovering from Watford and everything else. The Mage was the closest thing I ever had to a father, and he was shit. So yeah, part of me thought I couldn’t be a good dad, because I had no good reference point. But I’m older now. I’m more mentally stable, and I’m...” I hold his hand, weaving our fingers together. “I’m not scared anymore. I’m not like the Mage. At least, I don’t want to do what he did to me. I-I hope I couldn’t be that awful. And...more important than anything, I really want kids. I love children, and the idea of having our own makes me so happy.”

Putting the binder behind me on the ladder, I reach up and cup his cheek. He leans into my touch like always. “And even if I do end up being terrible, you’d be a great dad, Baz. You’re wonderful with your siblings. Merlin, even Mordelia likes you now.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “So...I think we could do this. Do you?”

He squeezes my hand once and lets out a long breath. “I think we could too. But just so you know.” He leans forward, tapping our foreheads together. After all these years, his deep grey eyes still make my heart stutter out of control. “You’re not giving yourself enough credit. I think you’d be a wonderful dad too.”

I giggle, wrapping both my arms around his neck and pulling back to grin at him. “Well, if you say it, it must be true. As we know, Basilton Snow-Pitch is infallible.”

Baz turns up his nose haughtily. “Of course. I know all.”

“Oh that is definitely the truth. Should’ve put it in our wedding vows.”

“Damn right.”

We laugh for a second, but quickly get quiet again. He pulls me closer, thin arms tight around my waist. His face gets sober but still soft. “I’m serious though. You don’t need to worry, Simon. I’ve been with you for almost a decade, and have been watching you for even longer. So I can say this without a doubt: You’re nothing like him. And you would be a marvelous parent.”

My face crumples slightly. “What if I fuck up?”

“We’ll both fuck up, love. No parent is perfect. But we’ll try our best. And I know your best will be fucking amazing.” He grins, and it’s sweet and genuine and perfect.

Crowley, I love him. And over the years I’ve grown to love him more and more. He’s still a sarcastic stubborn arse sometimes. (Actually a lot of the time.) But he’s also like this, when he’s just with me: soft, genuine, and unbelievably kind.

I sigh and hug him closer, burying my face in his bony shoulder. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, darling.” He presses a soft kiss my hair. I love the feeling of his cool lips against my skin. “So we’re really going to do this, right? Even if it’s hard? Even though we’re both a bit scared?”

I pull away, smiling so hard my face. “Yeah, we’re really gonna do this.”

He lets out a breathy chuckle, and so do I. Soon we devolve into stupidly loud joyful laughter. Baz lifts me up in a fierce hug (yay vampire strength). I hold his beautiful face in both my hands. And completely on instinct, I lean down and crush his mouth against mine. We’re still laughing between every kiss. We’re too happy not to.

“Hey! My baby’s nursery is definitely a no snogging zone!”

We break away to see a very pissed off, very pregnant Penelope Bunce glaring at us. Baz puts me down. We’re both still grinning like idiots.

I chuckle nervously. “Sorry, Pen, W-we’re just...we’re really excited cause-”

“We’re joining you on the whole baby thing,” Baz says cooly. He’s far more calm than me (he always is.)

Penelope’s eyes bug out from behind her glasses. Her mouth slowly falls open. “Nicks and slicks, you’re serious?”

“Very.” He picks up and waves the binder. “I’ve done all the work though, of course.” I elbow his side, but we both keep smiling. Always a sarcastic asshole. That’s the man I married.

Penny marches forward as best she can and snatches the binder. She flips through it, eyes getting wider with every page. She looks back up at us.

“Holy shit,” she breathes out. “You’re actually doing this?”

I grin so hard my cheeks hurt, but I don’t care. “Yeah. We really are.”

She snaps it closed dramatically. “You two are such dicks. Just copying me, huh?”

Baz glares, eyes practical slits. “Hey, you don’t have a monopoly on children, Bun- ah!”

Penny throws her arms around both our necks, pulling us down to her level (so Baz is practically bent in half). She clutches us fiercely.

“I’m so happy for you two,” she whispers.

I sigh, wrapping an arm around her lower back to return the hug. “Thanks, Pen.”

“Thank you, Bunce,” Baz replies, tone much softer than usual.

She lets go, but keeps a hand on our shoulders. I notice a small tear in the corner of her eye but I don’t point it out. She would be pissed if I did. Pregnant or not, I would never cross Penelope Bunce.

“Now, no matter how happy I am, you two need to get this room ready. Your baby may be far off, but mine is about ready to pop. So finish up in here and I’ll tell Micah to bring us celebratory scones on his way home from work. Alright?”

“Wonderful,” I say.

“Unfortunate,” Baz grumbles.

Penny playfully ruffles his hair, loosening some strands from his annoyingly attractive man bun. “You’re going to be _such_ a good father.”

“Damn right I am. My kid will be just as sharp tongued as me. They’ll give your baby a run for their money.”

I hang my head and groan. “I can’t believe you two are competing over this.”

“We compete over everything, Snow,” Baz says, patting my hair. “This will be no different.”

“I agree with you, Basilton.” Penelope shudders even more dramatically. “Crowley, that still feels so wrong. Finish up quickly, you two. I’ll put on coffee.”

She walks away with a smile on her face. I know, insults or not, she’s genuinely happy for us. Of course she is.

“Guess I should finish with the bloody baseboard,” Baz grumbles.

“I can help,” I say. “I’m done with the stars.”

“Hm, really? And what pattern did you choose?”

“Well, why don’t I show you?”

I rush over to close the door, then flick off the light. Baz looks up and lets out a loud laugh. He walks over to hold my waist.

“You’re so cheesy,” he whispers into my ear.

“Hey, everyone needs a little extra love,” I reply

We both look up and gaze at my handy work. At the big glow in the dark star heart that will hang over Penny’s new baby. I hope to do the exact same in our kid’s room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so for the last few prompts, they will all be connected by Baz and Simon being parents. There will be time jumps but follow the same canon and idea. Hope you all liked this :)
> 
> Tomorrow: Christmas decorating!


	18. Christmas Decorating (Children Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon has a worry when everyone is over for Christmas decoration.

**Simon**

“I have Christmas scones!” I announce proudly as I enter the living room.

“Just because they’re made during Christmas doesn’t make them Christmas scones, love,” Baz says, but still takes one off the plate.

“Scones are for every holiday.”

“I agree with Simon!” Helen shouts from down the hall where she’s supposed to be putting up Christmas cut outs. But when I look back, she’s standing on a ladder, hanging tinsel. My heart seizes in terror. I shove the plate of scones at Baz and rush to her.

“Helen! Please be careful!”

She groans and rolls her eyes. “Oh my god, Simon, I’m pregnant, not made of glass.”

“I know, but still, be careful. Here, let me help you down.”

Once again, she groans and rolls her eyes like they're footballs in a tumble dryer, but she still takes my hand. Her other holds her somewhat large stomach. (At four months she’s starting to actually show.) She sighs as she hits the ground.

“But seriously, you two,” she says, “thanks for inviting me for Christmas decorating. You really didn’t have to.”

“Nonsense!” Baz shouts, mock dramatically. “You’re carrying our baby. It’s the least we can do.”

“You’re so nice, Basil. I hope you teach this baby to be the same.”

I snort audibly. Yeah, “nice” is not usually a word associated with Basilton Snow-Pitch. Baz glares at me, grey eyes turned into silver daggers. I grin back. He knows I’m right, shown by the way he’s still smirking.

“Hey do you have any Christmas cookies?” Helen asks, green eyes wide and hopeful. “I’m really craving gingerbread for some reason.”

“In the large cupboard in the kitchen,” I say. “Guess the baby shares my sweet tooth.”

“Unfortunately. Your child is going to ruin my hips.”

Helen cackles to herself as she walks to the kitchen. I stride over to Baz, wrapping my arms around his waist as he puts up a California ornament from Agatha.

“Just think,” I whisper against his ear. “Next Christmas we’ll have a baby here with us.”

Baz hums happily, leaning back against me. “That we will. I wonder if they’ll inherit your freckles. Or your curls. That’d be funny, having two spotty, curly haired people in the house.”

“Hm. Maybe they’ll have wavy black hair like you.” Baz tenses ever so slightly. Shit shit, I said the wrong thing. “Well, similar to you. Not exactly like you, y’know. I know it’s not possible, I’m not stupid. I just mean...y'know. I’m sorry...”

Merlin, how so I always say the wrong thing? It's not like I don't know how this all works. We decided early on I’d be the biological father, because: A) Baz wasn’t sure vampires could reproduce, and B) even if they could, Baz didn’t want to risk passing on his curse to the child. But we still picked a donor who looked a lot like Baz. She was Egyptian-English too, with the same black hair and sharp features, just with hazel eyes instead of Baz’s deep water grey, and dark tan like he used to have pre-vampirism. Still though, Baz is a bit touchy about it. He says it’s because this is just another choice his vampirism has taken away from him, which I completely understand. But I’m worried it’s about some other things too...

“It’s okay,” he sighs, turning in my arms to face me. “I know what you mean.”

I bite at the corner of my lip, almost hard enough to draw blood. The knot in my stomach twists tighter and tighter. I’ve been trying to find the right words for awhile, but keep coming up short.

“Baz-”

The doorbell rings, obnoxiously loud as usual. I immediately rush towards it. “I’ll get it.” (Yes, I still have a tendency to run from my problems.) (Yes, I know it’s still a bad thing.)

I fling open our front door. Immediately, a pair of pudgy arms fling towards.

“Tío Simon!” Little Gil shouts, diving out his father’s arms towards me. Luckily, I catch the over excited three year old before he face plants the carpet.

“Gilberto! Be careful!” Micah says, reaching out as well.

“Whoa, your daddy’s right there, bud, be careful,” I chuckle out. “Crowley, you’re sense of danger is worse than your mother’s.”

“Hey!” Penny practically manifests from behind her husband. “My sense of danger is great, thank you very much.”

Micah and I share a knowing look. Both of us are well aware of Penelope Bunce’s tendency to be stupidly brave. Emphasis on "stupidly" sometimes.

“Simon, Simon, I gots new toys!” Gil bounces in my arms.

“Really?! Oh then you’ll have to show Tío Baz and I, won’t you?”

“Yeah!”

“Why don’t you run to the living room and say hi to him, hm?”

“Okay!”

He wriggles out of my grasp and sprints away like the firecracker he is. I sigh, putting my hands on my hips.

“How did you two produce such a hyperactive child?” I ask.

“Your guess is as good as mine, Simon,” Micah sighs. He claps a strong hand on my shoulder. “Good to see you. Happy Christmas.”

I smile back, patting his hand once. “Happy Christmas to you too, Micah.”

He strolls in, probably to follow his rocket son. Penelope comes in after him. She’s dressed in her favourite Christmas sweater and holly headband, as per usual on this fine holiday. She gives me a big, squeezing hug. One which I happily return

“Happy Christmas, Si,” she says into my shirt.

“Happy Christmas, Pen.”

She pulls away, keeping both hands on my sides. “Now, before we get decorating, is your baby mama here? I want to meet her.”

“Well, she’s not technically the baby’s biological mother, y’know. She's just carrying it. She calls herself 'the walking incubator.'”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Where is she?”

“Kitchen, probably wolfing down too many gingerbread men.”

Penny grins almost evilly. “I think I’m going to like her.”

She trots off towards my kitchen. I pass by the living room and see Baz laughing as Gil plays with his hair.

“Your hair’s so soft, Bazzy!” He yells (almost everything he says is in yelling.)

“Yes, it certainly is. Your’s is wonderfully curly. Like your Mum's and Uncle Simon’s.”

Gil gasps loudly. “Yes! We curly curly!”

Baz chuckles and ruffles his dark curls. “Yes, very curly. Now, what are these new toys you're so excited about?”

Gil giggles as Baz places him on the ground. He and Micah kneel down, absolutely fascinated with Gil’s brand new Hot Wheels. Though I'm tempted to join them, I make my way to the kitchen instead. There stand Helen and Penny, deep in conversation.

“I'm absolutely serious though,” Helen says through a mouth full of crumbly brown gingerbread. “If the American government doesn't do something now, they're going to destroy the entire environment. It's simple logic.”

Penelope nods vigorously. “I completely agree. They're ripping the planet apart. That's one of the reason we decided to stay in England instead of moving to America. Though mind you, England isn't that much better.”

“Agreed, unfortunately.”

“You two seem to be getting along,” I say sweetly. They both turn to face me, with grins.

“Swimmingly,” Penny beams. “Helen was just telling me her thesis research on the environmental damage in North America. Where did you find this amazing woman, Simon?”

“Through an agency,” Helen interjects. “Simon and Baz picked me from a profile and asked for a meeting. We got along immediately.”

I throw an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against me. “Yes we did. She noticed Baz’s obscure violinist joke button and I swear he immediately fell in love.”

She laughs, leaning into my embrace. “That’s very true. He went so wide eyed, it was fucking adorable.”

Penelope shakes her head. “‘Adorable’ is not a word I usually associate with Basilton Pitch.”

“Oh he was though,” I giggle. “It was so cute. I liked Helen when she said her favourite pastry was scones.”

Helen puts one hand on her hip, chin tilted defiantly. “Of course they are! Scones are the best food. Your school must’ve been fucking great to serve them.”

My heart sinks again. Watford reminds me of my worries. I turn to Helen. “Hey, Helen, uh...can I get some time alone with Penny?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll go help with the tree.”

She gives me one last side hug and walks off towards the living room. I step back to lean against the table, Penny joining me quickly.

“You alright, Si?” She says, putting her hand over mine.

“I’m worried, Pen,” I say quietly. “Y’know I’m the biological father of the baby, right?”

“Yeah, of course I remember. Your point?”

“It’s just- I’m concerned that...you know that...”

“Spit it out Simon.”

I groan and hold my head. “I’m...I’m worried the kid won’t be a mage.”

“Oh. You’re really worried about that?”

I whip up to glare at her. “Of course I’m worried about that. We don’t know if I was even really a mage or just a Normal with stolen power. What if this kid is Normal?”

Penny slowly raises an eyebrow. “So...?”

“ _So_ , who are the two people who care about magic more than anything? You and Baz! Baz would love to raise magic kid. What if they’re a Normal like me? Then Baz never gets to pass on his knowledge, our kid never goes to Watford, and the Pitch line ends! He already can’t have a biological kid, which I know hurts him a lot. Bloodlines are so important to the Old Families, I know. If the kid isn’t a mage? That’ll hurt even more. I-I don’t want to do that to him!”

Penelope sighs heavily. I recognise it as the sigh she uses when she’s annoyed with me. “Simon, you’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?!”

“Yes!” She grabs both my hands tightly. “Simon, I swear on Merlin’s name, Baz will not care if the kid has magic or not. Or if he’s blood related to them. Because it will be _your_ kid, both of yours to care for. That’s all that matters. Y’know why you’re actually worrying?”

I roll my eyes. “Please, do tell me.”

“Because you’re about to be a father, and that’s really fucking scary. Your finding things to be worried about because you’re scared. Believe me, I know. I was terrified before Gil was born. And I’m still sort of am. Everytime Gil cries after I yell at him or I lose sight of him the park, my heart stops. It’s a fear every parent has, that you’ll do something wrong and hurt your child. You’re sacred, so you’re finding stuff to worry about to distract yourself from that. We all do.”

I chew on my lip. She’s making sense, but the knot in my stomach still hasn’t gone away. She sighs again, letting her hands fall from mine. “If you’re really that worried, how about actually try talking to Baz? Y’know, communicate with your husband?”

I glare, trying to emulate Baz’s steely gaze, but Penny just raises her eyebrow. After a long staring contest, I huff and look down. “Okay, fine. Can you ask him to come in here?”

“Sure. I promise, Si, you have nothing to worry about.”

She pats my shoulder once and walks away. I pace up and down the tile floor. Is Penelope right? Am I worrying about nothing? It doesn’t feel like nothing. Magic is important to Baz. He loves it. So is his family bloodline. Doesn’t he want to pass them down to our kid? Our donor is Normal. If I’m all Normal too then there’s no chance. He must’ve thought of it too, he _must’ve_. And what if-

“Snow? You alright, love?”

I turn around so fast I nearly fall over, stumbling a bit. Baz stands in the doorway looking slightly worried, brow furrowed and frowning slightly. I straighten up.

“Uh, yeah,” I sputter out. But I quickly deflate, shoulders slumping in. “Actually no. I have to talk to you about something.”

He walks forward and leans against the table with one arm. “Well if that isn’t ominous.”

“Sorry. It’s just- Something’s been on my mind for awhile. And I need to talk about it before I explode.”

“Alright then. Shoot.”

I take a long, deep breath, and let it out slowly. I look Baz right in his deep water grey eyes. “Baz, what if our child isn’t a Mage? Would...would you be okay with that?”

Baz’s face falls, and my stomach goes with it. He looks shocked and a bit hurt. When he speaks, his voice is uncharacteristically small. “Do, do you think I wouldn’t be? That...I wouldn’t love our child if they weren’t?”

Fuck fuck _fuck_. I rush forward and grab his hands, violently shaking my head. “No no, Crowley, no! That’s not what I meant. I just, I was worried you’d be sad if the baby wasn’t a mage, because you love magic and I know you’d love to pass it on. And...I know not being able to be the bio parent has been hard on you. Bloodlines and all. S-So...I just worried that the baby not being a mage would hurt you even more. B-But I know you’ll love our kid! I’m really sorry for implying otherwise. Penny’s right, I’m worrying about nothing. Merlin, I’m so sorry, Baz.”

Baz sighs, leaning forward and squeezing my hands firmly. “Okay. I-I know you couldn’t think that, but...Aleister Crowley, you really scared me for a moment there, Simon.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry.”

“But,” he pulls back and cups my cheek, “just to be clear, I’ll be perfectly happy if our baby isn’t a mage. And I really am fine that it won't biologically be mine. There are lots of things I can pass on other than my blood or magic. Like an appreciation for morose violin pieces.”

I chuckle, shaking my head with a smile. “God, you’re going to indoctrinate them young, huh?”

“Certainly! Then someone else in our house will finally listen to good music.”

“You and I have very different definitions of good music.”

We laugh happily, foreheads tapping together. And even after we gain our composure we don’t move. We just stand there, faces close, breathing each other in. Sometimes we need these moments. Where it’s just us, reminding ourselves that we’re here for each other no matter what, even if one of us fucks up.

“Magic or not,” I whisper, “our kid is going to be great.”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “They’ll be fucking fantastic.”

I giggle and hug him close, wrapping him as tight as I can. He returns it just as fiercely. “I’m still really sorry.”

“Apology accepted already, Snow. Don’t worry. I understand why you were worried, but I promise it isn't an issue.” He strokes my hair, then pulls back too look at me. He’s grinning from pointed ear to pointed ear. “Now c’mon. You must see Gil’s new little cars. He’s very excited to show you.”

“He’s excited about everything.”

“Well, still, they’re very cool cars.”

He quickly grabs my hand, interweaving our fingers, and pulls me to our living room. Gil is sitting on the floor, making his little car fly with a raspberry for effect. Micah makes his own truck soar to crash into Gil’s. Penelope is in deep conversation with Helen while they hang ornaments on the tree. Helen reaches up to hang an angel, one hand on her growing belly. The Christmas lights make colours dance on the walls. Our Christmas tree glints and sparkles beautifully.

Baz is right. There's more than bloodlines and magic. This right here is something we can pass down to our kid: our family. Not just those you share DNA with, but those you choose and care for and love. They'll care for and love our baby just as much. I know it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt this would need to be addressed if they had a kid tbh. Having a blood heir is obviously very important to Old Families and Simon would know this. So he'd think Baz thinks the same way. I also think he'd be worried that the kid wouldn't have magic, because of aforementioned reasons in the fic and the sadness over losing his magic. He wouldn't want to deprive his kid of that, because despite everything he went through, he loved magic. That's my view. So I wanted a fic to address that and have both of them recognize they have other things they can pass down than magic or blood relation. Hope y'all liked it. Tomorrow: family! :D


	19. Family (Children Part 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The big day arrives a bit sooner than expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this prompt is what inspired this whole "having a baby" idea. You can guess what happens :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I have never been pregnant, dealt with a surrogate, or been to Guy's Hospital. Sorry for any inaccuracies.

**Baz**

Work is dreadfully boring. It has been for the last few weeks. I’m mindlessly filing away client reports. It’s weirdly meditative in it’s repetitiveness. It keeps my mind off worrying. Simon said I should keep going to work. Otherwise I’d just spend hours fussing over Helen with him, and she would not appreciate the extra worrying father to be hovering over her. So I’m sitting here, rearranging documents, being bored into weird zen coma. I barely register my phone ringing, picking up the receiver calmly like I always do.

“Basilton Snow-Pitch.”

“BAZ!” Simon’s voice is so loud I have to pull the phone away from my hyper sensitive ear, wincing painfully.

“Aleister Crowley, Snow, are you trying to make me deaf?”

“Sorry sorry, it’s just- you gotta- you should really get up and go- cause cause-”

“ _Simon_ , please slow down! Take a deep breath, then talk, okay, love?”

“Okay okay.” He takes an audible slow inhale and exhale. “Baz, you have to make your way to Guy’s Hospital. Because Helen is going into labour and we’re about to drive there right now.”

“What?!” I jump so suddenly my office phone rattles on my desk. My heart is beating so fast I fear it may stop. “But Helen isn’t due for another week!”

“Tell that to your baby, Basilton!” Helen shouts from somewhere in the background.

“What she says,” Simon puts in, trying not to laugh. “Just get there quickly. We’ll meet you there.”

“Yes yes, good. See you soon.”

I put down the phone. For just a moment, I freeze. The whole world sort of stops for a second. It’s really happening. I’m about to have a baby. I’m about to be a Dad. I think I’m going to be sick. Whether it’s from nerves or happiness, I’m not sure. Doesn’t matter, I need to go!

I gather up all my stuff quickly and shove it into my work bag. Running down the hall, I luckily spot my supervisor.

“Martin!” I shout. He turns around, smiling politely.

“Hey Basil. What’s up?”

“I-I have to go. My surrogate has gone into labour early, and I have to get to the hospital. Can my parental leave start, well, now?”

His eyes go wide. “Oh my god! Yes, yes of course. Please go. Congratulations, mate!”

“Thank you,” I sigh, and dash off out of the office. I hope I don’t get sick in my car.

* * *

 

I have prided myself on staying calm in stressful situations. When Snow would freak out and just attack frantically or simply go off, I would use logic and precise spells. But it seems my serene personality has decided to take a vacation today. Hooray.

I sprint into the hospital lobby and practically crash against the front desk. The man sitting there jolts up to look at me.

“Hello,” I pant out (Merlin, I’m out of breath). “Where is the maternity wing?”

“..why?” He says nervously, probably scared by a weird disheveled man asking where the babies are. (Understandable.)

“M-My husband is here. We’re having a baby. He’s probably already arrived with our surrogate. Should be under Snow. Or Pitch. Or Snow-Pitch, I don’t know. He's not consistent with which name he picks.”

“Uh, let me check.” His fingers rattle across his keyboard. “Are you Basilton?”

“Yes! Yes, that’s me.”

“Alright. Your family is in Room 224”

“Thank you, good sir.”

Once again, I sprint down the clinical hospital, trying to block out all the smells. Hospitals always smell disgusting. I’m so distracted by scents of blood and antiseptic that I nearly miss the room. But a certain voice tips me off.

“Breathe, Helen, breathe.”

“That’s what I’m bloody well doing!”

I burst through. Snow’s head whips up, a relieved smile spreading across his face. Helen is laying on the hospital bed, breathing deeply and gripping my husband’s hand like her life depends on it.

“Hello,” I say as calmly as possible. “What did I miss?”

“Your baby is very eager to see the world,” Helen groans.

“Apparently so. They’re over eager like their father. Here, give Snow’s hand a break and take mine.”

I stride forward and hold my hand out to her. Helen releases her death drip on Simon’s and he sighs heavily, shaking it out. She clutches mine instead. I hiss slightly. Damn, she’s strong. But she’s not vampire strong.

“Wow,” Helen gasps. “For a desk jockey you’re very tough.”

Snow and I share a knowing look across the bed. His eyebrow nearly reaches his hairline, matching his smug smile. “Yeah,” I say. “Working out pays off.

Simon scoffs and rolls his eyes. I glare, but can’t help but smirk.

“You’ve called everyone, right love?” I ask

He nods eagerly. “Yup! Your family, all the Bunces, even Agatha. Oh, she says she wants many pictures of our, I quote, ‘demon spawn.’”

“How eloquent,” I deadpan.

“Hey, if any kid is going to be a demon spawn, it will probably be our’s.”

Of course this is when the doctor decides to enter. She’s a lovely young woman with dark curly hair and glasses. Crowley, she looks a lot like Bunce. That’s a bit freaky.

“Hello!” she greets cheerily (well, she’s more perky than Bunce). “I’m Dr. Gerald. Now, who are the lucky parents today?”

“Uh,” Simon say. “Well, I’m the father.”

I raise my free hand. “I’m also the father.”

“And I’m the incubator,” Helen chimes in.

Dr. Gerald nods slowly. “Okay then. Sounds good. You’re not the first ‘non-traditional’ family I’ve helped. Now, let’s check on how your baby is doing.”

She sits down on the stool and reaches under the medical sheet covering Helen’s lower half. Her face scrunches up in concentration, nodding with little “hm” noises. My worry just increases with every “hm”, twisting and pooling in my stomach.

“Well?!” I snap. Helen lightly smacks my shoulder, glaring harshly.

Dr. Gerald smiles. “Everything seems good. Your baby is well on its way. I think we should expect a quick delivery.”

“Thank god,” Helen sighs.

I squeeze her hand once. “Agreed.”

The doctor sheds her blue plastic gloves still grinning at us. “I’ll be back in little bit to check on you again. In the meantime, try to relax.”

We watch her walk out the door. Helen glares viciously. “Easy for her to say. She doesn’t have a watermelon trying to force its way out of her vagina.”

“Yeah, sorry about that, Helen.” Simon says, genuinely apologetic.

“Not your fault, Si. I signed up for this. Literally.”

“Want me to get you anything?”

“Ice chips would be lovely.”

“On it!” Snow bounces up, giving me a peck on the cheek before he dashes off.

I pull up a chair while not letting go of her hand. She’s breathing deeply, clutching and loosening her grip on my hand with every inhale and exhale.

“How are you doing, Helen?” I ask quietly.

“Considering everything? Pretty well. How about you?”

“I’m fine.”

“Baz.” She gives me a knowing look through her sweat soaked auburn bangs. “You don’t need to play tough for me.”

I straighten up instinctively. I still don’t like when people see through my facade. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’re about to have a baby. An actual, honest to god, human baby. You’re freaked out, and so is Simon. Which is entirely reasonable. So you don’t need to pretend to be calm in front of me. I understand if you’re not.”

I try to keep my composure. But I’ve been keeping it for months, trying to be the confident one for everyone, especially Simon. But he’s not here right now. So I let out a long sigh, shoulders slumping.

“I’m certainly freaking out,” I say quietly. “All of this has been so far away. But now, it’s actually happening. And...I’m not sure I’m ready.”

“Well, as my sister with four kids says, ‘no one has a script for this shit. Having a kid is life’s ultimate improv’.” Script? Improv? I give her a curious look. She shrugs. “She’s an actress. Everything is a theatre metaphor. But she’s right. No one is ever fully ready to have a kid. Anyone who says otherwise is a fucking liar.”

I groan, leaning my head on the hospital bed. “I just don’t like being unprepared. I usually have a plan for everything. But I’ve read every book and article I can, and I still don’t feel ready. And...and I need to be the ready one, for Snow.”

Helen sighs heavily. I look up at her, and she looks back annoyed. “What?” I snap.

“Baz, you don’t need to be the calm one for Simon.”

“Of course I do! He’s terrified enough, considering his childhood and shitty...foster father. I can’t add to his stress.”

“Y’know, if you ask me, I think Simon would prefer if you were just as freaked out as he is. Then you wouldn’t hide, and he wouldn’t feel weird for being freaked.”

I furrow my brow. What is she talking about? I open my mouth to ask, but suddenly the door bursts open. Snow strides in with a bucket of ice chips.

“Found some! You wouldn’t believe this place. It’s a goddamn maze!”

Helen grins. “Wonderful. Hand them over, Si.”

He puts the bucket in front of her, and Helen scoops out a few to chew on. Snow sits on the other side. They start chatting about random crap while I roll around Helen’s words in my head. I thought I had to be strong for Simon, but now I’m questioning if that’s the right thing to do. Does he need me to be scared too? That doesn’t make sense. At least, not to me.

Helen groans, clutching her stomach and crushing my hand. Simon takes her other one.

“Shit,” she huffs. “I hope that annoying doctor is back here soon.”

“I actually agree with you,” I chuckle.

“It’s okay we’re here for you, Helen,” Simon says. “Thank you so much.”

“Yeah yeah, you’re welcome, you big softie,” she replies. “Buy me a drink after all this. That will be a true thank you.”

“We’ll buy you an entire goddamn bar, I promise.”

“I’m going to hold you to that, Sim- Shit!” She grips us again, teeth clenched and muscles tensing with another contraction. We let her crush our hands. It’s the least we can do for her. Part of me hopes this is over soon, for Helen and for us. But a smaller part of me hopes time will stop, just wait a little longer, until I’m ready. Though now, I’m not sure I ever will be.

* * *

 

“Should I push yet?” Helen pants. “I feel like I should push.”

“Not just yet,” Dr. Gerald says. “You’re almost there though.”

“Thank the lord.”

“Agreed,” Simon says, subtly shaking out his hand from Helen’s grip. I don’t blame him. I’ll be surprised if I’ll be able to do anything with mine ever again.

I read that labour takes awhile, but this seems to be speeding along. Only two hours and a half hours after we arrived and the doctor says our baby is almost here. My heart is beating so hard it threatens to break my ribs. I’ve been trying to stay calm throughout all of this. But that’s slowly been ebbed away and replaced with utter dread. There’s so much that could go wrong, so much we could do wrong.

I look up at Simon, still standing on the other side of Helen. He’s chewing on his lips to the point it’s probably almost bleeding. I see him picking at his nails on his other hand. He hasn’t done that since uni. I reach behind Helen’s head, palm up in offering. Simon notices, and grabs it firmly. His hot skin fits perfectly my tepid body temperature, like always. We look at each other. His eyes are wide and open and more than a bit scared, silently saying two words.  _I’m scared._

I nod and mouth, _me too_.

He sighs and nods back, giving my hand one firm squeeze.

“Okay,” Dr. Gerald says, “it’s time. Helen, on three, I want you to push. Okay?”

“Okay, okay,” she sighs shakily. “Hold on tight, boys.”

“One, two, three, push!”

Helen pushes with all her might, gripping our hands like a vice. My lungs and heart feel tight. My stomach feels like it’s about to drop out on the floor. But for once, I don’t try to hide it from my face. I’m scared, for many reasons, and that’s okay. I’m not above fear, and I’m allowed to show it.

A wail rips through the air.

“It’s a girl! Congratulations, dads!” The doctor announces. She holds up the screaming baby. And my heart officially stops beating.

She’s tiny and crying, as she should be. Her skin is tan, a shade or two darker than Snow’s, and covered in freckles. Little black hairs poke up from the top of her head. I let out a happy, breathy chuckle. My fear doesn’t go away, but joy overwhelms it. This is my kid. I have a daughter. And Crowley, she’s fucking perfect.

“Which one of you wants to cut the cord?” The masked nurse asks.

Snow and I look at each other. He seems just as happy and bewildered as me. My hands are shaking, far too much to do that right now. Snow’s eyes flick down where our’s are joined. He nods knowingly.

“I’ll do it,” he says.

Crowley, I love him. While he does that, I lean down to Helen, who’s breathing heavily and still clutching my hand tightly. “You did so well,” I whisper. “Thank you.”

Helen smiles sleepily. “You’re very welcome. Still scared?”

“Terrified. But far more happy.”

“Good. That’s how it should be.”

“I know.”

Soon, Simon taps my shoulder. “Hey,” he says quietly. I turn around. He stands there, smiling widely, the little bundle in his arms. “Take a look at her.”

Cautiously, I straighten up. She’s still making adorable little cries, though not the shrieks from a few minutes earlier. She stretches towards the sky with her tiny chubby hand. Slowly, I reach out my index finger, and she wraps her own fingers around it. Her grip is strong and warm and so _alive_. Almost immediately, she stops crying. She’s amazing. And she’s mine.

“Holy shit,” I chuckle. “We have a daughter.”

“Yeah,” Simon sighs. “Which means we need to work on our language.”

I lightly knock his shoulder. “Oh shut up.”

“Wanna hold her?”

“Of course.”

Simon carefully passes her over to me. She fits perfectly into my arms. I lightly cup her little cheek. She yawns and leans into it. Simon giggles.

“She likes you,” he teases.

“I bloody well hope so. She’s going to have to put up with me for a long time.”

“Very true.” He strokes her head softly. “Baz, are you scared? I-It’s really not just me?”

I turn to him. He’s still looking at the baby, but I see the tension in his face, the way all his beautiful features are pulled together. I put my hand over his, stilling it on her soft head. He finally looks at me. I smile.

“No, it’s not just you. I’m terrified. But I’m also very, very happy.”

He sighs, and smiles warmly back at me. “Me too.”

“Then we’ll be terrified and happy together.”

“Damn right.”

“Language,” Helen mumbles sleepily. Simon and I both laugh.

Simon discreetly wipes a few tears from his cheek and snuffles unceremoniously. “Now, I should go inform our horde of relatives. You okay if they come in, Helen?”

“Yeah sure. Bring on the horde.”

“Alright,” Simon chuckles. “Be right back.”

I kiss his cheek. “Thank you, love.”

Simon practically skips out the door. I sigh, and sit the chair, my baby still close to my chest. Crowley, _my_ baby. I have a living breathing infant who I’m responsible for. And I already love her more than anything.

“See?” Helen says. “Told you it was better to tell him.”

“Yeah yeah, you were right.”

“Penelope’s got a point. You two really do have trouble communicating.”

“Ha, you think this is bad? You should’ve seen us when we were roommates at school. There were many reason it took us 7 and a half years to confess our feelings. Lack of communication was certainly one of them.”

“Damn. Were you a great love story filled with toils and trials and tragic miscommunications?”

I smirk, flicking my eyes over to her. “Something like that.”

Suddenly, the door bursts open, and the horde pours in. The Bunces and my family, including all my little siblings, rush inside. Penelope is at the front (of course she is), smiling so hard her face hurts.

“Let me see!” She shrieks.

“Shhh!” I hiss. “Helen’s tired and the baby is tentatively sleeping.”

“Sorry sorry. Just let me see her, please?”

I shift the baby slightly, facing her out more. Bunce gasps quietly.

“She’s so cute,” she whispers. “Got Simon’s freckles, huh?”

“Yes, certainly. Hopefully she’s inherited a better sense of humour though.”

“Hey!” Simon snaps from beside me.

I press my lips to his cheek “Love you, darling.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, love you too. Now go talk to your dad.”

With some very short mental preparation, I stand up and stride over to my father, who’s standing with my step-mother and siblings. He looks stern, wearing a crisp black suit with his hair slicked back, but that’s usual. For once, I do wonder what he’s thinking.

“Father,” I say.

“Basil,” he replies, voice flat.

I shift my bundled baby towards him. “This is your first grandchild.”

“Yes, I can see that.”

“Would you like to hold her?”

His bored mask breaks a little. In a very rare instance, he looks nervous. Our relationship has certainly improved over the years but it’s far from perfect. We still tend to tiptoe around each other a lot, afraid we’ll do the wrong thing.

I hold the baby out further. “It’s alright. You’ve had five children, I don’t think you’ll drop her or something.”

He scoffs out a small laugh. “Alright, let’s see her.”

I pass my daughter over to him. He holds her carefully. I know that my father is precise and cautious, but that’s usually in regards to schemes or magic. But now I see it applied to my child, and it’s much less menacing. My siblings peer over, smiling and giggling over the baby.

Daphne walks up next to me, placing a hand on my arm. “Congratulations, Basilton.”

“Thank you, Daphne.”

Suddenly, Mordelia crashes into me. Even as an official adult, she’s still boisterous as anything. And after years in America, she talks like them, unfortunately. “Yeah, congrats, broseph. Try to be nice to her, okay?”

I elbow her side. “Fu- Screw off, Mordelia. I’m plenty nice.”

“Liar.” She peers over at the baby, tickling her little cheek. “Does this little munchkin have a name yet?”

I turn my head to look at Simon, who’s talking with Bunce quietly near a snoring Helen. I raise an eyebrow, silently asking the question. We picked names for a boy or a girl a while ago, but kept them both secret, despite Bunce and others pestering us. Simon nods with a smile. I turn back to my father.

“Her name’s Natasha,” I say loud enough for all to hear. “Natasha Penelope Snow-Pitch.”

Everyone goes dead silent. Father inhales sharply, probably in shock and happiness. Micah, standing with Gil a bit farther away, goes slack jawed. Gil laughs loudly.

“That’s Mamá’s name!” He shouts.

I turn around. Bunce is frozen where she stands, brown eyes as big as saucer plates behind her glasses. When she speaks, her voice is nervously cracking.

“S-Seriously?”

“Yeah, Pen, seriously,” Simon says, throwing an arm around her shoulders. “You’re my best friend. I’d probably be dead by now if it wasn’t for you. So when Baz suggested I pick a middle name for a girl, it was sort of a no-brainer.”

Bunce opens her mouth to speak, but I think for once in her life, she doesn’t have anything to say. Instead she just hugs him fiercely, burying her face in his shirt. Simon chuckles and hugs her back. It’s the second most adorable thing I’ve seen today (my baby takes first place, of course.) When she pulls back, there are tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Areseholes,” she sputters. “This was all some ploy to make me blubber in front of everyone, right? You bastards.”

Simon laughs with his head thrown back and everyone joins in, including Bunce herself. Snow presses her to him in a side hug. “Seriously, though. It’s a big honour. Thank you,” she looks at me, “both of you.”

I nod once. “You’re most welcome, Bunce.”

“Welcome, Penny.”

A hand claps over my shoulder, arm snaking around them. I turn to my father. He’s smiling, more genuinely than I’ve ever seen him do so in my entire life.

“Your mother would be very honoured as well, Baz. And incredibly happy for you,” he says with actual real affection.

My heart stutters. For years, I’ve been scared of what my mother would think of me. Her gay, vampire son. But that sentiment, from my father of all people, makes me feel a whole lot better. My lips press together, trying to will back tears. I’ve been dangerously close to crying for awhile now and this isn’t helping. I feel a few tears leak out, but quickly wipe them away. I have a reputation to maintain, dammit.

“Thank you, father,” I reply, voice cracking slightly.

He nods once. I feel a tug on my trouser leg and look down to see Gil, sucking in his thumb. “I see baby, uncle Baz?”

“Of course, Gil. C’mere.”

I lift him up in my arms. He peers over at Natasha in my father’s arms, eyebrows pulling in and mouth turning into a frown.

“She’s so...” he says. “Squishy.”

All the adults chuckle. “Yes, she’s very squishy looking.”

“Papá, was I squishy?”

“Yes, mijo,” Micah says, ruffling his hair. “You were just as squishy.”

He sticks his tongue out. “Gross!”

Everyone laughs again. Gil stays on my hip for a bit, zooming his toy car up and down my shoulder, while we all chat. Natasha gets passed to other people, but I always keep an eye on her. Daphne coos over her happily with Mordelia and the twins. Even my usually Grimm-family-level-solemn little brother smiles. Eventually she makes her way into Penelope’s arms. She, Snow, and a newly awake Helen look over her, giggling at her every little movement. I sigh under my breath. Part of me can’t believe this is happening to me. All my family is here, including my child. My own living, breathing, perfect child. Aleister Crowley, I’m living a charmed life.

After about a few hours, we’re all quite tired, Helen especially, who’s been falling in and out of sleep. The nurse says, barring any complications, she can go home tonight. (She’s going to stay with her sister, who she wants to take care of her post-pregnancy.) We shuffle everyone out so she can get some rest. Daphne gives me one last cheek kiss, Father and Micah shake my hand, Mordelia says goodbye with a fist bump, Gil hugs my leg, and Penelope reluctantly gives me back my own baby.

“Am I going to have to worry about you kidnapping her?” I ask with a playful smirk.

“Hey, you just might,” she replies with a nudge. “She’s absolutely precious. If you ever need a babysitter, I’d be happy to help.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

“Of course.” She gives me one more hug, careful not to crush Natasha between us. “Congrats again, Baz. I’m really happy for you two.”

“Thank you, Penelope.”

She pulls back, patting my arms once. “Try to get some sleep tonight. You’re not going to get a lot for awhile.”

“Wonderful...”

“Welcome to parenthood, Basil. Have fun!”

She walks off with final swish in her step. I roll my eyes. Of course, smug as usual. Should I expect anything else at this point? I go back in and pull up my chair next to Snow. He’s lounging with his eyes shut, a sleepy smile playing on his face. I lean my head on his soft shoulder.

“Hey,” I whisper.

“Hey,” he replies. “How’s she doing?”

“Still sleeping, thank Merlin. Hopefully she’s not a restless baby.”

“Knowing our luck? She’ll be up all hours of the night.”

I let out a scoffing chuckle. “Very true. She is cute though.”

Simon hums, playing with her little black hairs. “Incredibly so.” He sighs happily. “She’s perfect.”

“M-hm.” My mouth twists slightly. “I hope I don’t mess her up.”

“Hey, remember what you told me? Back when we started this craziness?” He puts his strong arm around me, pulling me closer. “‘We’ll both fuck up. No parent is perfect. But we’ll try our best. And I know your best will be fucking amazing.’”

I chuckle. “Yes yes, I remember, I said it.”

“Well, I know _you’re_ best will be fucking amazing too.”

I lean into him more, holding Natasha between us. She breathes very quietly but I can hear her (yay vampire senses). Every inhale and exhale makes me happy and relieved, because it reassures me that she’s alive and well. “Thank you, love.”

He carefully takes Natasha from me. “You look tired. Sleep for a bit. I’ll take care of Natty for now.”

“We’re not calling her that,” I mumble before turning over in my chair. Simon chuckles. Quickly, I’m whisked away into into welcome sleep.

* * *

 

Even more hours later, after tests and talking to doctors and getting our stuff together, we’re allowed to take Natasha home. Helen still dozes on and off in our car. She says she wants to sleep for a thousand years. As we let her off at her sister’s house, we promise to call and visit her in a few days. She tiredly agrees, and we thank her for the millionth time before shutting the door gently behind her.

When we arrive at our own home, it’s very dark. Natasha hasn’t woken up, thank Merlin and Morgana. I drop all our heavy baby bags with a sigh.

“Home sweet home,” I say happily.

“Wonderful,” Simon sighs. “I need real sleep. In pyjamas. In our bed.”

“Me too.” I take his hand in mine and lead us to our room. In there, Snow lays Natasha in her little green bassinet that we had ready. She stretches and yawns, smacking her tiny lips. I spend an inordinate time just staring her. Even though that’s what I’ve been doing all day. Maybe I’m still absorbing it all. Will I ever get used to this? Having a child in my house, in my life? I think so. But right now, I can’t help but stare at her.

“Baz,” Simon whispers. “C’mon, you’re tired. You can look at her tomorrow.”

I lopsidedly, half my mouth pulling up. “Yeah, I guess I can.”

We get changed as quickly and quietly as possible. (Just because Natasha hasn’t woken up yet doesn’t mean she won’t very soon.) Silently, we slip under the covers. I pull Simon against me, my body curled around his. He holds my hand tightly over his heart. Our fingers slip together easily like they always do.

Simon sighs. “Today has been...”

“A _day_ ,” I finish.

He chuckles, back rattling against my chest. “That’s one way to put it.”

“I’m excited though.”

“Me too.” He turns in my arms to face me. His beautiful face is half lit up in moonlight, accentuating his freckles and making his bronze hair glow. He traces a finger down my cheekbone, then cups my face softly. He smiles, blue eyes almost sparkling. “We can do this. We’ve faced a lot worse. So we can certainly do this.”

I put my hand hand over his, nodding slowly. “Yes, we can. Together.”

“Together.”

He shuffles forward, pressing his face into my shoulder. I rub slow circles into his back and run my fingers through his hair.

“I love you,” I whisper against his scalp.

“I love you too,” he replies, voice muffled by my shirt.

I let my eyes slide shut. The exhausting excitement of the day makes my bones and muscles soft. Sleep is a welcome guest in my body. My husband is snoring softly into my skin, my daughter is right behind me. Everything is okay. Better than that, everything is great. I can sleep.

Then Natasha starts crying.

She lets out a loud piercing wail that tears through my sleepy calm. Simon groans and starts disentangling himself from me.

“No no,” I mutter. “I’ll get her.”

He makes tired sound of gratitude and rolls onto his other side. I swing my legs off the mattress, hanging my head for a second to get my composure, then scoop up my screaming child. I pat her back lightly, bouncing her up and down the hall.

“There there, little puff,” I say softly. “It’s alright, I’m here. Everything’s alright. Don’t worry, love, I’m not going anywhere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baby's here! And in my mind, of course her name would be Natasha, and with the middle name Penelope. I've used this name in my other fics too because I feel it works really well. Penny would certainly blubber :) Also the final situation is based on exactly what happened to my parents the day they brought me home. I was a loud baby. Even as an infant I liked to scream all the time. Now I scream about fandom stuff instead of food (still sometimes about food, tbh.) Tomorrow: snowy day!


	20. Snowy Day (Children Part 4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A snow day in for the Snow-Pitch family.

**Baz**

The relentless banging in my bedroom window is what wakes me up. For a terrifying second, I think Tasha has somehow gotten outside and locked herself out. But as I slowly open my eyes, I see it’s a flurry of snow pounding against the glass. There’s so much I can barely see any other buildings.

I shake Snow (my Snow) lightly. He groans and rolls over to face me. He looks adorable in all his bed head, stubble faced glory.

“What?” he grumbles.

“There’s a snowstorm, love. A big one. Just look.”

He moans overdramatically, making a show of rolling over again. He leans up on one elbow. “Huh. Look at that. A bloody blizzard. Think the roads will be closed?”

“Knowing London? Certainly.”

“Mm.” He flops back down and pulls our duvet up to our shoulders. “Then we don’t have to go to work. Stay here forever.”

“Very true.” An idea pops into my head. I grin evilly as I snake my arm across Snow’s chest. “Which means, we have time to do this.”

I press my lips just under his bristly jaw. His breath hitches, muscles tensing up. “Baz,” he says like a warning, but his voice is already shaky. “Tasha is probably already awake. And she always bursts in here-”

“She’s not up yet,” I mumble as I trail kisses down his freckled and mole covered neck. He lets out a quiet moan. Crowley, I’ve missed this. Our sex life has thoroughly decreased in the past three and a half years. Between general life stress and specific Tasha related stress, we haven't been in the mood a lot. With no work to go to now, I plan to change that.

My hand slowly trails down across his warm stomach. Simon’s breathing increases with it, becoming more shallow and laboured. When I push past his boxer waistband, he groans and arches his lower half against me, punching the air right of my lungs. He reaches back to tangle his hand in my hair, pulling on it slightly. I moan myself and push my mouth more forcefully against his skin. Snow moves his hips in a slow circle. For the first time in quite awhile, it's slow and focused, not quick and frantic. And fuck, is it good. Fuck, fuck, _fu-_

“Daddy! Papa!”

The door bangs open. I don't think I've ever been so quickly turned _off_ in my entire life. I let out a little yelp as my hand shoots out of Simon's pants. He squeaks and lets go of my hair, allowing me to shove myself backwards. Tasha jumps up on our bed. I roll over, propping myself up on my elbows, to see her kneeling over us, looking at us curiously with her hazel eyes through her curly black hair.

“Morning, little puff,” I say, voice still a bit horse.

“What were you and Daddy doing?”

Snow inhales so sharply he coughs. I grip the sheet in panic. “Uh, Daddy and I were just...hugging. Because we love each other very much.”

Simon snickers, and I promptly kick his shin under the sheets. She looks curious for another second, but quickly beams. “Okay. Did you see outside?! Iss snowing lots and lots!”

“Yes, we did, love,” Simon says.

“Are we gonna have a snow day?”

“We just might. We'll have to check the news though.”

“Okay! Can we have pancakes for breakfast?”

I look at Snow. He shrugs up to his ears. “I don’t see why not.”

Tasha jumps up, bouncing on our mattress. I can’t help but laugh (she’s too cute.) “Yay yay yay!”

“Go wait in the kitchen, love,” Snow says between his own giggles. “Papa and I will be there in a minute.”

“Okay!” She jumps down and scrambles off the bed, dashing off towards the kitchen. She’s not as hyper as Gil was at her age. But she gets close sometimes.

I flop down and groan, running hand over my face. “Merlin and Morgana, we're never going to have sex again, are we?”

“Nope,” Simon sighs heavily. He pats my shoulder. “C’mon, lover boy, get up. Pancake time. I’ll make the batter, you and Tasha can cook them.”

I roll onto my side and pull the duvet over my head. “Five more minutes.”

“Oh no. If I have to get up, so do you.” He pulls the blanket down hard all the way to my hips, making me shiver.

“You arsehole.”

“Language, Basilton. There’s a child in the house.” He swings his legs over the side, stretching out his bare tawny skinned, freckled back. Crowley, I want to push him back onto this bed and never let him up again. He looks over his shoulder, smirking devilishly. “Like what you see?”

“Of course."

“Mm. Good to know.”

He lowers his head down, hovering his lips just over mine. I tilt up to close the distance. We’re almost there, just a breath away from each other. One millimeter more...

“Daddy! Papa! Hurry up!” Tasha yells.

We both sigh, chuckling under our breaths with our foreheads together. “The queen calls,” I whisper.

“Yeah, I hear her.” He gives me one fleeting peck and hauls me up by my wrist. “C’mon, pancake time.”

* * *

 

“Alright, now let’s pour the batter slowly.” I carefully tilt the ladle, Tasha’s hand wrapped around my wrist. She holds it in place until all the white liquid spreads out on the pan. When it’s all gone, she tugs for me to tilt it back up. I turn to her with a grin.

“Very good job, love,” I say. She gives me a wide, toothy, three year old grin.

We end up making quite the stack of pancakes, far more than we should need. But considering Snow’s appetite they’re necessary. I put one on Tasha’s plate, cut it up, and dribble maple syrup on them.

“More,” she says flatly.

I give her a pointed look. “What’s the magic word?”

She groans in a way that’s eerily close to Snow. “More, please?”

“That’s better.”

I drench the fluffy chunks and Tasha giggles happily. Snow walks in, freshly shaven and hair still damp from the shower. He goes wide eyed at the stack of flapjacks.

“Wow, you two made a lot,” he says with a smile.

“You did make a lot of batter for us.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t expect you to use it all.”

I quirk an eyebrow. “You don’t seem that upset.”

He shrugs as usual. “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

He takes his typical place at our dining room table, kissing Tasha’s head and my cheek as is routine. Then he takes three pancakes (of course.)

“So,” he says with his mouth full (adulthood hasn’t improved his manners), “London roads are officially closed today. We can call into work but I doubt our bosses will make us come in.”

“I hope not,” I reply. “I for one am not driving out there.”

“Me neither, love.”

“Snow day?” Tasha says cheerily through a mash of pancakes and syrup.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, darling,” Snow chides kindly. “But yes, snow day.”

I chuckle as I cut off another piece. “Snow day for the Snow-Pitches. How poetic.”

* * *

 

“And then, the big dragon swoops in to get the princess! Roar!” Snow makes Tasha’s dragon plushie soar through the air. Tasha shrieks and giggles. He’s always good at this, making a big show for her. She loves Snow’s grand adventures created with all her toys. He lowers the dragon to fake attack her. She rolls on her back, fake batting the dragon away. After watching some telly, we’ve been keeping her occupied for hours through the storm.

“Papa, save me!” She giggles.

“Sorry, love, even I can’t defeat a dragon,” I say calmly from my place on the couch. Snow gives me a knowing look.

Tasha scrambles away from Snow towards me. She laughs wildly as she buries her face in my side. Simon’s dragon menace goes after both of us.

“No,” Tasha yells. “He gonna get both of us, Papa!”

“I’ll protect you!” I throw an arm over her and lightly shove at Snow. He puts a hand to his chest, falling down overdramatically.

“The dragon is too weak to go on,” Snow chokes out. He “dies” dramatically, spread out on the floor in starfish with his tongue hanging out.

Tasha hugs me tightly with her little arms. “You can defeat a dragon.”

“It seems I can. Especially for my little girl.”

She giggles and plants a wet kiss on my cheek. Even at three years old, Tasha is incredibly affectionate. It’s one of her best qualities, in my opinion. As someone who had to figure out how to show affection later in life, I admire her innate ability to do so greatly. She crawls up the couch and looks out the window over my head.

“Iss not snowing anymore,” she says. “Can we go play?”

Snow and I look at each other. “I don’t see why not,” he replies with a shrug.

I put down my book and stand up triumphantly. I take Tasha’s little hand. “C’mon, little puff, the snow awaits.”

Getting Tasha into her snowsuit is always a production, to say the least. It’s bad enough trying to fit her thick mess of black curls under her tiny hood, but she always insists she doesn’t need her boots or mittens.

“You need to wear the mittens or you’ll get cold, love,” Snow grumbles.

“But Papa’s always cold and he’s fine!” she whines.

“That’s very different.”

After many minutes of arguing, we finally get her properly dressed and step out into our building’s small courtyard. Everything’s covered blindingly white snow. The trees, the bushes, everything. It sparkles in the sunlight. Tasha lets go of our hands and runs into it. The powder flies up under her boots, and she flops down on her back.

“I making snow angels!”

Simon runs forward and falls next to her. I stand over them, hands on my hips.

“The Snows making snow angels,” I muse. “How cute.”

“Well, you’re a Snow too. Get your butt down here.”

“Yeah!” Tasha yells. “Get your butt here!”

“This is a wool coat, love. I’m not getting it soaked.”

An evil grin splits across his beautiful face. I back away slowly. “Snow, don-” Quick as lightning, he grabs my wrist and yanks me down, sending me tumbling onto the snow covered ground.

“You are the worst,” I growl.

“And yet you married me,” he says with a smug sing song.

“I’ve been known for making poor life choices.”

“Jerk.”

Tasha tugs on Snow’s coat sleeve. “Daddy Daddy, I wanna make snowballs.”

Snow sits up, legs spread out in a v. He gathers some snow in his mitten covered hands and attempts to squish it into a ball. But bits keeps falling off.

He grumbles, frowning adorably. “Should be compacting better.”

“This is fresh powder. It isn’t wet enough,” I say. “It won’t stick. Sorry, darlings.”

Snow grunts. “Well that sucks. But, I can still do this!” He throws a handful of snow right in my face. I bolt up, spluttering with cold powder coming out of my mouth. Simon and Tasha howl with laughter. Snow clutches his stomach, wildly kicking his feet similar to an excited child. Well, actually exactly like our excited child, doing the same next to him.

“Oh,” I chuckle, “it’s on, Snow.”

I toss my own handful at him. This sets off an all out war. Snow flies everywhere, a practical shower of flakes covers all of us. Tasha takes Snow’s side. She jumps on my chest and drops a handful right on my face.

“Betrayed by my blood!” I shout overdramatically.

Snow barks out a laugh. “Oh, if only Penny was here. She’d have _so_ much to say.”

I throw more snow at him. “Shut up.”

Our snow battle rages on. After totally soaking my coat and hair, we attempt to make a snow fort. But that’s quickly abandoned by Tasha in favour of just running and throwing snow in the air. She looks so happy. It’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.

* * *

 

“Dishes all done,” Simon sighs, sitting next to me on the sofa,

I throw an arm around him. “I could’ve helped y’know.”

“You made dinner, I do the dishes, it’s only fair. Besides, someone needs to watch the munchkin.”

The sky is dark, the only light coming from our dim lamp. Tasha sits on the floor, playing with her dolls and action figures. She’s adorable as always, snow damp hair hanging around her head like a curtain. Sometimes I really do wonder how I ended up here. Not dead or banished for my vampirism, but with a husband and daughter I love more than anything. Maybe the universe isn’t so cruel after all.

“I had fun today,” I sigh quietly.

Simon hums happily. “Me too. Though I totally won the snowfight.”

“You had help.”

“Like a three year old is sufficient backup.”

“Hm, says the man who had it.

The storm whips up again, sending a flurry of snow against the window. Snow cranes his neck back.

“Wow, there it goes again,” I mutter

“Yup. It’s frightful out there.”

An idea enters my head. Being with Snow for over ten years has made me more prone to impulsive decisions. I discreetly queue it up on my phone. I pick up my wand from the coffee table and point it at the speaker and say, **_“play it, Sam.”_ ** The system turns on. It’s already connected to my mobile. The soft, simple melody rings through the room. Michael Buble’s smooth voice starts to sing.

_Oh, the weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful. And since we've no place to go, let it snow! Let it snow! Let it snow!_

“Oh my god,” Snow groans, “are you serious?”

“What? It’s appropriate.”

He pushes his warm nose into the crook of my chilly neck. “Cheesy bastard.”

“Oh you want cheesy? I can do far more cheesy.” I bolt up from the sofa, tugging his wrist up to follow. He yelps and stumbles right into my arms. We stand pressed together, arms out, my other hand on his lower back, similar to the Leavers Ball all those years ago.

 _“When we finally kiss goodnight,”_ I sing as I dance him around the room. “ _How I'll hate going out in the storm! But if you'll really hold me tight, all the way home I'll be warm.”_

He throws his head back laughing, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Snow takes over lead, spinning us and waving our joined hands up and down. His voice is slightly off key but still gorgeous. “ _The fire is slowly dying, and, my dear, we're still goodbying. As long as you love me so, let it snow! Let it snow! Let it snow!_ ”

I feel a tug on my leg, and look down to see Tasha grinning and jumping with her arms up. “Dance too, dance too!”

Letting go of Snow, I scoop her up onto my hip. Snow holds her back, his other arm around mine. We swing and shake to the beat in our own little circle. Tasha squeals and laughs wildly, black curls bouncing with every happy sound. Simon and I sing along between our own giggles. And I think this is what joy really is.

The song ends, and we all flop down on the sofa still laughing. Snow and I hug Tasha between us.

“Papa can sing!” She yells.

That sends Simon into more loud howls. “Yes, Papa _can_ sing. He should do it more often.”

“Fat chance, Snow. One song a year, that’s all you get.”

“Aw, so cruel.”

Tasha wriggles out of our arms and starts spinning. “Let snow, let snow!” She yells.

Snow chuckles, leaning his head onto my shoulder. I tilt my head back against the back of the couch. I close my eyes and take a slow, happy breath. That was joy, and this is just contentment. Simple, easy, comfortable contentment.

“Papa! I gots your stick!”

Contentment is immediately replaced with terror.

My head snaps up, as does Snow’s. Tasha jumps around waving my wand. Oh shit, oh shit! Simon leans forward.

“Tasha,” he says slowly, “please put that down. That’s Papa’s and it’s very important that you-”

“I make music!” She swings it like a conductor’s baton. **_“Let snow, let snow!”_ **

I freeze. I recognize that tone of voice. And from Snow’s expression of utter shock, I know he does too. Something cold hits my skin. Then again, and again.

“Baz, look,” Simon whispers.

I do. Impossibly, falling from our flat ceiling is a light dusting of snow. I chuckle quietly. “Merlin, Morgana, and Circe.”

“She has magic. Our daughter is a mage.”

“Holy shit.”

Snow elbows my side. “Language!” He tries to be serious, but he can’t help but laugh. I don’t blame him. I can’t stop smiling either.

Tasha jumps up and down. “Daddy iss snowing inside!”

He stands up and scoops her into his arms, peppering her little cheek with kisses. “Yes, it is, darling. It certainly is.”

* * *

 

I stand in the doorway of Tasha’s room. After playing in her created snow for a an hour, she collapsed in exhaustion. (It has been a long day for her.) Now she sleeps soundly, curled up in her little yellow onesie, clutching her plush dragon. Even after three and a half years, I still can’t get enough of staring at her. My girl. A _mage_.

“Hey,” Snow whispers, wrapping his arms around me from behind, his chin resting on my shoulder.

“Hey.”

“Merlin, she's out cold. Think using magic for the first time drained her?”

I shrug. “Maybe. Or we just tired her out. Having a snow fight will do that.”

He pushes his nose under my jaw, lips just hovering over my skin. “But y'know, I'm not that tired. Want to pick up where we left off this morning?”

My face breaks out in a grin. I grab his hand and tug him towards our room. “Gladly.”

* * *

 

Snow and I lay in our bed, sweaty and smiling. The snow storm still rages outside, banging on our window. But I hardly care or notice. My brain is still going off like a fireworks display.

“That was nice,” Simon sighs.

I scoff with no menace. “Understatement of the century.”

“Oh, well, I’ll certainly take that compliment.”

I kick his foot. “Don’t let it go to your head, Snow.”

He throws his arm over my chest, snuggling against my body. “Too late.”

I sigh, still frowning a bit as I hold him tight. We sit in silence for awhile. All I focus on is his steady breathing and the wind howling outside. I love these moments. Simple silence and calm. It makes me happy, and more importantly now, brave enough to talk about tough subjects.

“Y’know,” I whisper, “I really would’ve been okay if she wasn’t a mage.”

Simon sighs, hot breath clashing against my cool skin. “I know, Baz. I know you would’ve been totally okay with a Normal kid. But turns out we have a magick one, which _I’m_ okay with. She’s a mage, which is great. She’ll-she’ll be a fucking great mage. And we’ll teach her. Both of us.”

I sigh myself, all the worry in my body escaping with one breath. “Yes, we will. But do you know what this means?”

“That you’ll need to hide your wand better so Tasha won’t accidentally summon a hurricane?”

I pinch his side. “Shut up, no. It _means_ , I was right. You were a real mage. You were never a fraud, Simon. Your magic was all your own.”

He looks up, blue eyes wide and still slightly swollen lips hanging open. I stroke his bronze hair and smile down at him. After fifteen years, I never get tired of looking at him either. He kisses me, fast but passionate. Soon, he breaks away, panting slightly.

“Yeah,” he chuckles out. “I guess you were.”

“You should listen to me more often.”

“Oh shut up.” He bends over the bed and tosses my shirt and sleep trousers at my face. Once we’re both fully dressed, Snow lays his head on my chest like always. We don’t speak anymore, letting sleep take over our bodies after a long day of fun.

“Daddy?”

We lift our heads up. Tasha stands at our door, clutching her stuffie.

“Hey, love,” Simon whispers. “What’s wrong?”

“Had a bad dream. Can I sleep here?”

“Of course. C’mere.”

Tasha crawls up into our and over me, settling in between us. I look over her, pushing some raven hair away from her cheek. Snow rubs her back up and down. She quickly falls asleep, her soft breathing audible in the quiet, clam room.

“Hey Baz?” Snow says.

“Yes, darling?”

“I think we should have another kid.”

My heart swells, beating faster than I thought possible. I reach over and hold his hand, gripping it firmly.

“Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright this isn't my favourite/best piece of writing but it's cute. I love to imagine Baz dancing Simon around the room. Tomorrow: letters to Santa!


	21. Letters to Santa/Christmas Wishlist (Children Part 5)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Letters to Santa over the years.

**December 21st, 2002**

Dear Santa,  
I’ve just learned to write so I wanted to write to you. My daddy has been very sad lately. His hair is all white and he’s always crying. I think it’s because my mummy went away. She went poof in a big flash and she hasn't come back. So could you please bring her back on Christmas? Then daddy will stop crying right? I've been good but I don’t need any other presents. Just bring my mummy back please. I haven’t seen her in a long time. I miss her lots and lots. 

Sincerely, Basil Grimm-Pitch

* * *

 

**December 23rd, 2006**

Dear Santa Claus,  
I’m writing to you this year even though I don’t really believe in you. But the other kids say I should try. I’ve been living in this group home all my life and I hate it. Everyone ignores me. So I was hoping if you could bring my parents to me this Christmas. I don’t know what I did to make them not want me. But tell them I’m sorry I promise to be good. I just don’t want to be here anymore. Hopefully I'm wrong and you’re real and you'll get this letter.

From, Simon

* * *

 

**December 14th, 2034**

Dear Santa,  
Daddy and Papa say I don’t have to write to you but I want to. I need you to know exactly what I want this Christmas. It's very important.

1\. I would really like a bike. Daddy promises he’ll teach me to ride it if I get one, and then I can go anywhere! I’ll travel the whole world! So I really really need one!

2\. Can you please give me something to make my baby brother stop crying all the time? He’s always wailing and it’s annoying. Both my dads say he’ll get quieter when he's older but I don’t believe them at all anymore. They said we were going to the park but we went to the doctor instead. We went to the park after the doctor but still!!!! Also Ebb spit up on me once and it was yucky. So I really just want something so he’ll be quiet and not gross, please?

3\. Could I have some new books? I’ve read all my books and I need more. Papa and Daddy get me new ones but I keep reading them too fast. And Papa won’t let me read any of his grown up books. He says I can when I’m older but I’m 6 and he said the same thing when I was 5 so he’s making me wait a long time. May I please have some books?

I hope this isn’t too much to ask. Thank you Santa!

<3, Tasha Snow-Pitch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, realistically a five year old could not write that well. But please suspend your disbelief for the purpose of this story. Also Baz was taught Greek by his mother he probably learned to write very young. Either way, hope you liked it :) Tomorrow: Christmas presents!


	22. Christmas Presents (Children Part 6)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas morning with all the Snow-PItch extended family there.

**Simon**

“Daddy? Daddy? Daddy?”

I crack a single eye open. It’s still dark out, but there’s a sunshine bright grin right in front of my face. His dark blue eyes are lit up with joy. I try to smile as much as I can, considering I just woke up.

“Morning Ebb,” I mumble. “What is it?”

“It’s 6am. You said we could come get you up at 6am.”

I sigh heavily. “Yes, we did tell you that, didn’t we? Where’s your sister?"

“Christmas, Christmas, Christmas!” Tasha shouts as she runs in and jumps on our bed. I’m jolted up violently with the first bounce, making me wheeze. She marches back and forth across our mattress. Baz groans and puts a pillow over his head.

“Five more minutes,” he grumbles

“Papaaaaa!” Tasha whines. “You have to get up! It’s Christmas!”

I chuckle, rubbing his back. “Well kids, Papa had too much ‘grown up drink’ last night at dinner and he’s not feeling so great.”

“Awww, Papa!” Tasha flops down on top of him. “Don’t be sad, it’s Christmas. No one should be sad on Christmas.”

"Yeah," Ebb chimes in, crawling up over me to see him and digging a knee into my lungs (wonderful). "No sadness on Christmas. Not allowed."

Baz chuckles, rolling over to hug them both properly. He strokes her curly black ponytail and holds Ebb's little hand. “Don’t worry, little puffs, I’m not sad. Just a bit groggy. How about you two go wake up everyone else while Daddy and I get ready?”

“Okay!” Tasha chirps. They both slide to the floor takes her hand. “I’ll go to Aunt Penny and Uncle Micah’s. And you go to Aunt Agatha’s. Okay, Ebb?”

“Okay!” He replies. They run off together giggling. I prop up on my elbow to smirk down at him.

“You’re so evil,” I whisper playfully.

He grins wide, obviously pleased with himself. “You did marry a plotting vampire, Snow.”

“Yeah, and after all these years you’ve still got it.”

“Damn right.” He leans up and quickly presses his lips against mine. His smile soft and warm and everything I could ever want. “Merry Christmas, Simon.”

I tap my forehead against his. “Merry Christmas, love.”

“Gah! Tasha! Stop jumping!” Penny’s voice carries perfectly from down the hall.

“For Crowley’s sake, Ebb, I’m up, I’m up,” Agatha moans.

Baz and I both giggle like schoolboys who’ve pulled off the ultimate prank. “Santa should’ve given us both coal,” I say.

“Hm, you may have a point. But...”

“Stop shaking me, Tash!” Gil groan-yells.

Baz chuckles lowly. “It’s too funny.”

I laugh with him. “Agreed.”

* * *

 

We gather in our flat’s living room. Tasha, Ebb, and Gil sit on the floor next to the tree, whispering to each other giddily. I go around to the adults with much needed morning coffee.

“Morning, Pen,” I say with large shit eating grin as I pour. She stares daggers at me through frizzy green bangs.

“Your children are nightmares,” she grumbles.

“And your child has thrown up on me six times over his life. Call it payback.”

She grunts and sips her coffee. I pour for Micah too, who gives me a brief glare over his own mug. Even his usually pleasant demeanor is overridden by tiredness. Next I stop at Agatha. She came all the way from California to spend Christmas eve and Christmas day with us. But from the look of murder in her eyes she may be regretting it.

“Merry Christmas, Ags,” I say cheerily.

“I was right,” she mutters, “you did have demon spawn.”

“Yup! You should see them on April Fool’s. They’re lethal.”

“Aleister Crowley, no thank you.”

“Daddy?” Ebb asks from the floor. “Can we open presents now?”

“Yeah, we want presents,” Gil adds loudly (he’s still pretty loud even at twelve.)

“Gil,” Micah says sternly. “Manners.”

Gil groans. “Can we open presents now, _please_?”

“In one minute,” Baz says from behind the camera. He’s been setting up his tripod for the last five minutes. “I want to get a good picture.”

Agatha puts a hand to her heart. “Aw Basilton, you’ve gotten so sentimental in your old age.”

“I’m only a month older than you, Wellbelove.”

“Still, it’s so cute. Tasha, Ebb, your father is adorable. No matter how scary he is, always remember that.”

“That’s what Daddy calls him!” Tasha giggles. “He also calls him hot, and se-”

Gil claps a hand over her mouth (he's old enough to be aware, thank Merlin,) just as I choke on my coffee. If Baz had more blood in his system, his face would be beet red. Penelope tries to contain her snickers unsuccessfully. Agatha doesn’t even try. Micah just looks away and drinks his coffee.

“Let’s take the fu- darn picture,” Baz mutters. He sits next to me and whispers in my ear. “We need to watch our conversations around the children better, Snow.”

“Apparently.”

“Light’s blinking,” Micah says. “Everyone say cheese!”

“Cheese!”

The flash goes off with all of us smiling. Ebb tugs on my pants. “Can we open presents now, Daddy?”

I ruffle his dark curly hair. “Sure thing, love. You and Tasha and Gil can hand them out.”

“Yay!”

The three kids start handing out presents. Penelope receives a tea cozy from me and a necklace from Micah, both of which she loves. She and Baz exchange books, of course, as they have on every Christmas for years. Gil gets a new chemistry set from Baz and I, as he blew up his last one. Weirdly, Agatha and Baz give each other small Troye Sivan posters. They give each other a strange knowing look. Penelope and Micah gift me with cherry oven mitts. Baz groans at them with a slight smile at them. Agatha gives me a pile of American chocolate, because she knows I love it. In exchange, I give her a new book on horses she'll certainly love. Tasha gives everyone each a small book she wrote herself, and Ebb gives us some of his favourite rocks from his rock collection. Ebb gets more Legos to add to his already enormous collection, and Tasha gets lots of books from both everyone. She buries her nose in them immediately.

Once all the gifts are open, I turn to Baz with a questioning look. He nods.

“Tasha,” I say, making her look up from her novel, “come up here for a second.”

“Okay.” She puts down Harry Potter and scrambles up in between us. I carefully tuck a stray piece of her black hair behind her ear instinctively. It’s familiar, comforting me for this ensuing conversation. “What is it?”

“Darling,” Baz starts, “we’d like to give you one more present.” He reaches behind the sofa and pulls out the thin, wrapped present.

Tasha eagerly rips the paper off. She looks at it confused. “What’s this? It looks like Daddy’s wand.”

Her observation isn’t incorrect. The wand is very similar to Baz’s, white bone with a leather handle. “Yes, it does,” I say. “This was your grandmother’s wand.”

“The one I’m named after?”

“Yes, Papa’s mother, Natasha Grimm-Pitch. She was a very good mage, and she was headmistress at a special school just for mages. Like you and Ebb and Papa.”

Tasha furrows her brow. “Okay? Why are you telling me?”

“Because,” Baz chimes in, “we were wondering if you would like to go that school eventually. It’s called Watford. A lot of mages go there. You would learn how to use your magic better up there, and you’d need your own wand to do so. Hence, we’re giving you your grandmother’s wand.”

“What’s Watford like? Did you go there? Is it nice?”

Oh shit. Baz and I give each other a nervous look. Penelope and Agatha share the same expressions. We all know Tasha is still too young for the whole story of our time at Watford. Me and Baz have talked about it about a bit when needed, but with none of the truly gory details. I honestly don’t know what to tell her.

“Sweetheart,” Agatha says softly, sliding to the floor in front of Tasha, “to be perfectly honest, no, it wasn’t nice when your Dads, Aunt Penny, and I went. There was a lot of bad stuff going on that we unfortunately got involved in. Even though we didn’t want to.” Tasha’s face scrunches up, along with my heart. I open my mouth to speak, but Agatha puts a single finger up to stop me. “ _But_ , it’s not like that now. It’s much nicer. All the bad stuff is gone, mostly thanks to your Dads and Aunt Penny and Aunt Penny’s Mum. She was headmistress for years after a very bad man and she fixed what he did.”

Penelope moves to sit next to Agatha, putting a hand on Tasha’s knee. “Yeah, there’s nothing bad there now, we promise. My Mum got rid of his bad things, but kept the few good things. You can go there and learn to use your magic and have fun with other little magicians just like you. Funny enough, the current headmistress is a woman named Trixie. And I know for a fact she’s very nice, because we were roommates at Watford. She’s a bit high strung, sure, but she makes sure Watford stays a pleasant place to be now. Gil can tell you, he’s in his second year there.”

“Yeah!” Gil shouts, popping up from the ground. “It’s great. There are so many other mages there all together. It’s unlike anywhere else. Also you get to live in a dorm with a roommate, and there are really fun and interesting classes. Oh, and the food there is the best. Especially the sour cherry scones.”

“Agreed, Gil!” I say, earning a soft chuckle from the others.

Baz puts an arm around Tasha and she leans into him. “So, little puff, what do you think?”

She looks up at him with big round hazel eyes. “Do I hafta go?”

“No, no of course not. You only have to go if you want to. Neither Daddy or I will force you.”

I rub her back up and down, something I’ve done to comfort her for years. “It’s your choice, love. We’ll support you matter what. Promise.”

She turns the wand over in her hands, lips twisting in contemplation. “Will I live there? Away from home?”

“Yes. But we can come visit you or you can visit us on weekends. And mobiles are allowed now, so you can call us anytime you like. Plus, Gil will be there, so you’ll know at least one person. It’s still up to you, though. Whatever you want, darling.”

“Do I hafta choose right now?”

“No,” Baz says. “Not right at this moment. You wouldn’t even have to go there for another two years.”

She nods slowly, just like Baz does when he’s thinking. “Okay. I’ll think about it.”

“That’s great, love.”

Tasha holds up her wand. “Can I keep this though?”

“Sure. Just be careful. It’s quite old and very precious to our family.”

“Of course.” She jumps to the floor with flair. “Ebby! Gilly! Let’s go play in the snow! I’m really good at those kinda spells.”

The two boys look at us for permission. Baz, Penelope, Micah and I all nod. They jump up and follow Tasha to the coat rack. Baz sighs, just a little wistfully.

“I’ll go watch them,” he says. “Make sure they don’t blow anything up, or reveal magic to Normals.”

I pat his shoulder. “Good plan, love.”

They all bundle up and shuffle out the door. I let out a shaky breath and relax against the sofa. That conversation had been terrifying me for months. Penny grabs my hand, and I squeeze it once firmly.

“That,” I sigh, “went much better than I thought it would.”

Agatha nods. “Yeah. I was worried she was going to freak out more about possibly living there.”

“Me too. But despite her volume level and rambunctiousness, she’s a lot like Baz, very logical. She knows living there doesn’t mean we’re abandoning her.”

“You think she’ll end up wanting to go, though?” Penelope asks.

I shrug, shoulders coming up to my ears.”Maybe. She seems to like the idea of learning more about magic, but she’s still wary. We’ll see, I guess. It’s up to her.”

“Yeah, we’ll see.” She tugs me up. “Let’s see what those hooligans are up to now.”

We all go to the window facing the terrace. They’re all standing in corner away from most of the other apartments so they’re mostly hidden. The still dim sunlight helps. Tasha is whipping up a trail of snowflakes and making it dance in figure eights in the air. Baz catches it from her with his own wand, making his own patterns. Gil uses his magic to help a giddy Ebb build a snowman. My family is absolutely fantastic.

“Hey, Simon,” Micah says, voice wondering. “If Tasha has Headmistress Grimm-Pitch’s old wand, what are you gonna give Ebb?”

I laugh slightly. This is something Baz and I have already discussed. “Well, we actually still have my old one, so he’ll get that. He’ll probably use it better than me.”

“Definitely,” Agatha says with a shit eating grin. We all laugh. I knock her shoulder. Okay, my family is full of arseholes, but they’re fucking great.

* * *

 

After hours of chatting, playing with presents, and spell casting practice for Tasha, we eat Christmas dinner together. With lots of wonderful noise. We have to tell Tasha to put her new wand down to eat (something she does very reluctantly). Gil regales us all with tales of his Watford antics. He’s not fighting a super villain like we did, but he likes to play pranks with his roommate. They’ve got some good ones. Like replacing the sugar in the kitchen with salt, or releasing snakes at a school picnic. Ebb, Natasha and I howl with laughter. The others rolls their eyes while shaking their heads.

“He’s done well, but it’s no chimera,” Baz whispers in my ear. It sends me into another fit of cackling.

Eventually, the sky gets dark, and we gather around the gas fireplace together with hot chocolate. Baz gets out his violin, and Micah gets out his guitar. They take turns between playing and singing. Micah’s voice is full and warm, strangely complementing Baz’s usual eerie violin tune. Baz’s melodious singing tone weirdly goes with his guitar strumming. Penelope tries to join in at one point. But she has a truly terrible voice, and it just sends us all into giggles, even her.

At Penelope’s off key rendition of Jingle Bells, Ebb tugs at my sleeve. His eyelids are drooping heavily.

“Daddy, I’m tired. Can I go to bed?”

“Sure thing, sweetie.”

Tasha leans against me, cheek pressed into my bicep. “Me too, Daddy. I’m all Christmased out.”

“Perfectly understandable, love. It’s been a long day. Baz? Little help?”

Baz puts down his violin immediately. “Sure thing.”

I scoop up Ebb, his little arms wrapping around my neck. Baz takes Tasha as she’s heavier and he has vampire strength. We walk them carefully up the stairs. With lots of effort and help from us, they get changed into their pyjamas. Ebb falls asleep clutching his dragon stuffie that Tasha passed down to him a few years ago. I gently close the door behind him, just as Baz does the same in Tasha’s room. We turn to each other with matching smiles.

“Tasha tried to cuddle the wand to sleep,” he chuckles.

“Merlin,” I sigh, “even if she doesn’t go to Watford, she certainly loves magic just as much as you.”

“Very true.” 

I let out a long yawn. “Y’know, I think I’m Christmassed out too.”

Baz yawns too. “I’m feeling quite sleepy. Let’s say goodnight and get to bed.”

“Sounds good.”

We tell the others that we’re off to bed. Micah says a kind goodnight. Penelope half heartedly waves, as she’s also falling asleep. Agatha calls us old men while dozing on our couch. (She’s immune to irony.) Gil is already passed out on the floor on one of our throw pillows.

Baz and I go through our usual evening routines then crawl into bed together. The warm blanket feels perfect after a long day. I let the heat of it whisk me off into comfortable sleep. But as I’m drifting off, Baz shakes my shoulder.

“Hey, Snow,” he whispers, “don’t fall asleep just yet. I still haven’t given you your Christmas present.”

“Mm,” I grumble. “Gimme it tomorrow like always.”

“ _Snow.”_

“Ugh, fine.” I sit up, glaring at him as best I can. “What is it? If it’s sex, I’m too tired.”

“No, it’s not sex, you dirty minded git. It’s this.” He hands me a folded piece of thick paper.

I sit up against the headboard and unfold it. My eyes go wide. It’s...me. A sketch of me done in pencil. I’m sleeping on a desk, head pillowed in my folded arms. It’s from Watford, as I’m in my uniform and my hair is much longer. I turn to Baz with my mouth hanging open. He’s smiling in that kind, soft way he only really does around me and our kids.

“Wha...what is this?” I whisper.

“While I was getting my mother’s wand at Hampshire, I came across this in my old room. I went through a drawing phase in sixth year. And, well, I mostly drew you, as I was...”

“Terribly obsessed with me?” I quirk an eyebrow.

He swats my shoulder. “Shut up, you were just as obsessed with me. Anyway, most of my sketches were shite, but this one was pretty good. You look pretty cute. Drooling all over your desk.”

“I don’t drool!”

“Sorry, love, you definitely do.”

I humph and turn back to the sketch. It’s not perfect, but it’s rough in a way that’s beautiful. Sort of fascinating in it’s rawness. I can really tell it’s by Baz. He focused heavily on my freckles and moles (he loves them) and my wild curly hair. It makes me sort of want to grow it back. I love it, so much.

I turn to Baz, cupping his cheek. “It’s wonderful, Baz. Thank you.”

“Welcome, darling. Happy Christmas.” He leans forward and kisses me. Our lips move slowly, but we smile between every peck. I feel it all the way down to my toes.

When we pull apart, I carefully place the drawing on my bedside table and open the drawer. “Well, if we’re giving presents now, I should probably give you these.”

I had him the two pieces of stiff paper. He looks at them with narrowed eyes. “Opera tickets? You hate the opera.”

“Yeah, but you love it. Look at where it’s playing though.”

He sighs and looks more closely. “Playing on May 30th at the...Teatro alla Scala.” Slowly, he lifts his head, grey eyes wide and mouth hanging slightly open. “That’s...that’s in Milan.”

I grin very, very hard. “I know.”

“W-Wait, what?”

“Well, we haven’t a trip that’s just the two of us in a long time. So I thought, ‘hey, why don’t we drop the kids with Penny and Micah for Easter break and go to Italy for a few days? Then you can watch your weird screechy sing play and I can stuff my face with Italian pastries. Win win!’”

I stare at him grinning for a long second, him staring back bewildered. Suddenly, he throws his long arms around me in a crushing hug.

“You are absolutely ridiculous,” he whispers into my ear. “I love you so much.”

“Love you, too. Merry Christmas.”

He pulls back, smiling in a way that makes my heart leap. Putting the tickets aside, we curl up under the covers together. Baz holds my waist tightly, nose pressed into the back of my neck. I watch the snow slowly fall outside our window. I happily fall asleep with my husband snoring softly behind me and watching the snowflakes sparkle like magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is so cheesy you could pair it with crackers :D Yeah I love me good ol' fluff. Plus some discussions about Tasha going to Watford. I think Baz and Simon really would suggest it but leave the decision up to her. Since they didn't get much choice growing up, they'd make sure she'd have that. That's my take. Tomorrow we have the finale: anniversaries!


	23. Anniversaries (Children Part 7)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tasha is 11 years old, and it's time for her to go to Watford.

**Baz**

“Oh, stay away from the catacombs. That place is disgusting,” Snow adds as he turns the car around another curvy bend.

“Stay away from the merwolves,” I say. “They’re terrible.”

“Is there anything good about Watford?” Tasha says with a smirk and raised eyebrow.

Simon scoffs. “Of course. The classes, the teachers, the food, being around other mages. But we’ve already been over all that. We’re just giving you important tips.”

“Well, you’re sort of bumming me out for my first day of school.”

I reach back to pat her leg. “Sorry, darling. We just want you to have the best time there.”

“No, you’re projecting your nervousness about me going to school into needless advice.”

I lean back. She’s sitting in her seat with her arms crossed and a smug smile. I narrow my eyes. “You’ve been talking to Aunt Penelope.”

“Yeah. She says you’re both worry warts.”

Simon grumbles, lip jutted out in a pout. “My best friend is bad mouthing me to my daughter. Wonderful. And, we’re here!”

He pulls in front of the Watford gates. I can sort of see the buildings from here. They’ve added one more since my time there. It’s modern looking, relatively tall and made of glass and steel. It’s where they teach more Normal subject classes, so Watford students feel more ready for the modern world. Though the Old Families kicked up quite a fuss, most people agreed it was necessary. Mages need to know magic but also how to just live normally. But there’s still the Whitechapel, and the Weeping Tower, and the Wavering Wood, of course, Mummer’s House. At its core, it’s still Watford.

We climb out of the car. I wake up a dozing Ebb. All four of us stand at the fence. Tasha goes right up to bars, gazing at it with wide eyes. She’s been here before a few times. But she still gets this dreamy look in her eye every time she sees it. It reminds me of the way Simon looked when he first came. But when I glance at Simon now, he looks through the gate very scared, mouth all twisted and quivering. He hasn’t been back here since...well, since the Mage. I take his hand.

“It’s okay,” I whisper. “He’s not here anymore. He can’t hurt you.”

He squeezes me tightly. “I know. But still...being here, it brings it all back.”

“I know, love. I know.”

Ebb walks up and takes Snow’s other hand. “It’s okay, Daddy,” he says. “It’s not bad anymore, right?”

Simon smiles, his tight grip loosening on my hand. “No, bud. It’s all good now.”

“It’s so awesome!” Tasha shouts, skipping over to us. “Every time I’m here I can feel the magic. There’s just, there’s so many of us here. It’s not like anywhere else.”

Snow grins, as do I. We know what she means. Simon’s told me that the magic feeling was one of his favourite things about Watford. It’s one of mine too. 

“No it’s not,” Simon sighs. “And you’re going to love it here, Tasha. I know you will.” He lets go of Ebb and my hand. “I should go get your bag.” He walks off, looking taller than he did a mere few minutes earlier.

I kneel down so Tasha and I are at eye level. She looks absolutely giddy, hazel eyes sparkling and teeth showing in a grin. I reach forward, placing a hand on her shoulder under her side braid.

“Now, Tasha, I know you’re Dad and I have been over worrying, but we’re still very happy for and proud of you. I think you’ll love it here. However, if you ever feel bad or lonely or sad, don’t hesitate to call us. We’ll always be here for you. Okay?”

She rolls her eyes while still smiling. “I know, I know. Don’t worry, I’m a big girl, Papa. I can take care of myself.”

I sigh, tilting her chin to look me right in the eye. “But here’s the thing, you don’t have to. You’re only eleven, darling. You’re still a kid and should get to act like one, even while you’re living away from us. Dad and I were forced to grow up far too fast at your age. We had to deal with a lot of stuff all on our own at Watford that we shouldn’t have had to. So never feel like you can’t talk to us, or that you have to cope with anything alone. We’re your parents and we’re here for you. Even when you’re here. Okay?”

Tasha’s expression softens, and I think she finally gets it. She nods slowly. “Okay, Papa. I’ll remember that.”

“Good. Now can I have a hug? Or are you too big for that?”

She smiles again. “Never.” She throws herself at me, wrapping her arms around my neck. I laugh and squeeze her back. I try to memorise the feel of her embrace. I’ll need to remember when I inevitably miss her too much. Suddenly, two other arms try to engulf us. We both look down at Ebb, trying to hug both of us at once with his relatively small eight year old arms. I laugh and bring him into the hug with us.

“Hey! No group hugs without me!” Simon shouts before embracing all three of us. We sit there for far too long. Because this is the last time we’ll be able to do this for awhile. All four of us together. Even though I know we’ll see Tasha again soon, I have to will my heart from breaking.

Slowly, we pull apart, Simon unsurprisingly the most reluctant. He subtly wipes away a tear. I can’t blame him. I’m a breath away from crying too.

“Alright,” Snow says, voice only cracking a bit. “Got all your stuff? Laptop? Books? Wand?”

Tasha nods rapidly. “Yup, yup, and,” she opens her jacket and pulls out her wand, “yup!”

“Okay, okay, good. We’ll bring anything if you forgot it.”

“I know you will. But I’ve checked my list five times, I’ve got everything.” Simon’s face twists slightly. Tasha walks forward, taking his hand. “You can still come visit me, y’know. You don’t need the excuse of bringing me stuff. I still want you to come.”

I keep myself from laughing. She can see right through Simon. It’s absolutely hilarious and adorable. Simon smiles wryly, then scoops her up in a big hug, spinning her around as she giggles.

He sighs as he puts her down, patting her head. “How did you get so smart?”

“Well, Papa taught me a lot.”

Snow raises an eyebrow. “And what about me?”

Tasha shrugs, unsuccessfully hiding her smirk. “You helped I guess.”

He shoves her head playfully. “Well, you definitely have Papa’s sense of humour too.”

She sticks her tongue out. Which is definitely more of a Snow move than a Pitch one. 

Simon, Ebb, and I hand her the luggage and backpack we brought. Ebb gives her his most favourite rock to, according to him, “keep her dreams nice.” She accepts it happily. Simon gives her one last tight hug.

“Now,” he says as he pulls back, “remember, you should learn, but have fun too. Also, be nice to your roommate. You have no idea how you two could end up.” He gives me a small wink. I roll my eyes smiling. Yeah, like the two of us are a common occurrence.

“I’ll remember, Daddy. Love you,” Tasha says sweetly. 

“Love you, too, darling.”

She moves over to Ebb and hugs him tightly. He’s crying unabashedly. (We’ll definitely need to have ice cream tonight for him. Well, for all of us.)

“Bye Bye, Tashy,” he mumbles sadly into her shoulder.

“Bye for now, Ebby.”

Once released, Ebb immediately runs to hug Simon, still whimpering. Poor little guy, I’ll hug him later too. She stops at me. There’s a small tear in the corner of her eye. I lean down and wipe it away, and press a kiss to her forehead.

“Good luck, little puff. I love you lots.”

She kisses my cheek in return. “Thanks, Papa. Love you too”

With that, she walks towards the gate. It opens for her, like it should. Once the guard checks her in, she gives us one last wave and dashes across the Great Lawn without shame. Simon chuckles under his breath.

“I still think she’s worse than Gil,” he says, still holding our moping son.

I put my arm across his shoulders. “Don’t tell Bunce that. She’ll hang it over us for years.”

“Of course not.” He sighs, his head leaninging against me. “Today’s our anniversary, y’know.”

“We got married in the spring, Snow. You’re getting dotty in your old age”

“No no, not that one. Anniversary of the day we first met. When the crucible brought us together.”

“Hm, that’s very true.” I turn to him, one brow quirked. “Would you have guessed on that day that we’d end up here?”

Simon smiles, simply content. “Nope. But I’m glad we did.”

I kiss his lips once softly. And it’s absolutely perfect. “Me too.”

“Daddy? Papa?” Ebb says, still sniffling a bit. “Can we have chicken fingers for lunch? I’m sad. Chicken fingers make me happy.”

I sigh, petting his hair. “Sure, little puff. I think we all need some happy food. Agreed, Snow?”

“Agreed, love.”

We load back into the car. I take the driver’s seat this time. Snow puts on some upbeat pop music, which immediately improves Ebb’s mood. They sing along terribly as usual. It makes my ears hurt, sure, but I’m too happy.

I still remember all those years ago, clear as day. I remember being drawn to that grimy boy with blue eyes and bronze curls holding his stupid red ball. Standing in front of him, little did I know how he’d change my life. Or how I’d change his. Even when I fell in love with him, I truly never thought we’d end up like this. Married, with kids, singing off key Top 40 hits with our youngest after dropping off our eldest at Watford.

And I can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap folks! Phew, 30 days, 23 fics, it's been nuts! But it's been lots of fun. Seriously I've really enjoyed doing this. Thank you to all the people who left kudos and comments here, and those who liked and reblogged my posts on tumblr. You're kind words made my day. Thank you so so much <3  
> Of course, I'm not done writing snowbaz fics, haha. Now I'll be working on the final kiss fic requests, which I haven't forgotten about I promise! And I hope to publish them in the new year. So look out for those! :D  
> On a final note, happy holidays y'all :)


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